


The Cure and The Poison

by dedougal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:59:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn’t know what to do after leaving the Army but Castiel has an offer of another way to serve his country – join an agency determined to track down a massive threat to National Security. A threat his brother is inextricably entwined with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cure and The Poison

**Author's Note:**

> For Dean/Cas Big Bang 2012. Many many thanks to lennymechs for the amazing art.   
> [Art Masterpost](http://lennyfics.livejournal.com/5637.html) is on lj. Thanks to majestic_shriek for the beta and to tiptoe39 for the cheering on. Original prompt from ledtoleadlovers. This is a sequel to But Dust and a Shadow but it's not essential to read that first.

There was blood on his hands. Vivid, red, fresh blood. His pale skin made the colour seem even brighter. It wasn’t his blood. It belonged to Cas. And somehow that made it even worse. Dean watched as the lights of the ambulance faded into the distance, blind to the rest of the kerfuffle around him: the police, the soldiers, the vast swathe of broken glass. None of it mattered more than the man being driven away from him in that ambulance.

Six weeks was enough time to spend living in anyone’s basement, let alone your brother and his fiancée’s. But after his last and final tour, Dean had nowhere else to go. The tiny apartment he’d let from a friend before shipping out had been let to someone else. Dean had agreed to that, thinking to save some extra cash and all of Dean’s life was packed away by Sam and Ruby and transferred to their basement. And when Dean came home, he’d ended up there too. Maybe the extra cash wasn’t worth it.

His bed didn’t fit. His bed had always been huge and luxurious and too big for his old place and it didn’t fit here either, making opening the wardrobe doors a challenge. He loved that bed. He bought sheets special, spending more than he really should for something he rarely actually saw. It was pure luxury. He used to dream of it when he was in a stupid tent up a godforsaken mountain halfway across the fucking world. He used to imagine… Dean rolled over and punched the pillow.

He’d walked into the base with Castiel. It seemed like barely a moment before Cas had vanished and Dean had been thoroughly debriefed and ended up with a redacted commendation and then his leave had started and he’d seen not one hide or hair of Castiel Novak. If that was even his name. Dean hadn’t wanted to ask around too much just in case it set off some alarms somewhere. So he’d come home to his brother’s basement and the too big bed.

It was nearing dawn when he finally dropped off.

 

Both Sam and Ruby had headed off to work when Dean made it into the kitchen. He might have basic kitchen facilities down in the basement but he liked to see daylight now and again. The sun was mostly hidden by clouds but it looked like it might be a nice day later on. Maybe Dean would drive into town, eat lunch at a diner or something. He fetched the paper from the front lawn, glared at the old lady’s twitching curtains and drank his coffee faced with the perky local news anchor. He could raid Sam’s Tivo or maybe even read one of the books on his shelf. Dean finished the paper, finished his coffee and finished watching the overly cheerful anchor. Then he laid his head down on the table.

Leave was supposed to be relaxing. Not sleep inducing. And the fact this leave had no end, well, it was enough to turn a man to drink. Actually, that sounded like a good plan.

 

Sam looked annoyed when he arrived at the police station. Dean was still a little too drunk to really give a fuck. He hadn’t asked for the bar fight. He had been enjoying a quiet few whiskeys, listening to a fairly decent local band and letting his eyes wander nowhere in particular. This type of bar didn’t seem like the kind of place to welcome his more flavourful attempts at a date. Date. What the hell was that anyway? He couldn’t count being trapped in a village full of insurgents and then hiking across Helmand Province as a date. Hadn’t needed dates with Cas. They just… fit.

It was the guy trying to impress his girlfriend who had started the fight and Dean had no choice but to end it. Which he did. Forcefully. He could moonlight as a bouncer, perhaps. The police officer, however, hadn’t really cared about who started it and Dean had felt like a whiny kindergarten kid pointing at the other guy, who was sporting a particularly impressive burst nose.

Sam had got him out after doing some complicated lawyer dance. It seemed to have something to do with pressing charges and Dean and it was all too much for his still inebriated brain to really take in. It was the silence in the car that finally got to him.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m just…” Dean trailed off, watching the street lights flicker past.

“Who was he?” Sam had on his “understanding brother” voice. “You’ve been moping.”

“Cas? Just… someone I don’t think I’ll be seeing again.” Dean knew the alcohol was loosening his tongue. “He’s on assignment.”

“Another soldier? That’s-“ Sam let loose a soft whistle.

“Not like me? Nah. He was an interpreter. Mostly.” Dean scrubbed his hands through his hair. He had the sudden urge to end this conversation and get to sleep. “Mostly.”

Sam mercifully let the subject drop.

 

The whole confession didn’t stop Sam yelling at him in the morning when he was properly sober. Dean’s head ached while his brother harangued him for every wrong while Ruby just watched, her eyes dark and knowing. Dean nodded throughout the tirade, biting his tongue, before taking his coffee and letting the door slam behind him. He could hear Sam’s voice continuing to boom as he made his way through the house and onto the front porch.

Dean was hungover, in a dirty pair of sweatpants and unshowered. He needed a haircut, a shave and a whole lot of coffee. And maybe some bacon. He also needed his pissy brother to shut the fuck up and let him nurse his aching head in peace. Dean wasn’t feeling quite at his peak and that was the excuse he was using when he threw coffee all over himself as he became aware of the figure standing at the bottom of the steps.

Holding his scalding, sopping clothes away from his skin (and hoping that the white material of his shirt wouldn’t be see-through), Dean knew he looked ridiculous. It didn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat and a warm fuzzy feeling pervading his being.

“Hey, Cas. You want to come in?”

Dean’s life really was one parade of disasters after another.

Watching Castiel sit at Sam’s kitchen table, his suit and tie an unsettling contrast to Dean’s spare pair of sweatpants and holey t-shirt (it was laundry day. Tomorrow), was a strange out-of-body experience. Dean had imagined the scene often enough. Normally he moved straight from the sitting to being splayed out naked and having Cas suck him and fuck him on the table. These scenarios hadn’t included his pissed as anything brother and his brother’s weirdly smug fiancée sitting on the other side of the table either. That would have been very very strange.

Castiel sipped at the coffee and answered Sam’s polite questions as neutrally and non-committally as he could. Dean was once more reminded of how little he actually knew about Cas beyond the fact he was some kind of super language nerd who worked for the shady sections of the CIA. Or so he presumed. Inside, the urge to ask Castiel all the questions he had stored up during the months they’d been apart burned, but Dean sealed his lips tight.

Sam eventually dragged Ruby away on their Saturday morning grocery run and Dean was left, teeth marks on the inside of his mouth.

“I have come with an offer, Dean.” Castiel wasn’t making eye contact. Instead his eyes were fixed on the stained and worn table. Dean’s earliest memories included colouring with crayons on this very table.

“Yeah.” Dean could play the waiting game just as well as Cas. Plus, not speaking meant those pesky questions remained safely buttoned up inside him.

Castiel finally stopped pretending to be cool and disengaged. He looked straight at Dean, those blue eyes piercing through him once more. A memory of hot desert sun, of a man wiping the dust from his body in a house surrounding by deadly enemies seemed to float between them. Dean wasn’t dust covered here, his life wasn’t at risk, but Castiel still looked at him like he might slip away at any time.

“My… superiors were impressed with your resourcefulness in the mountains. They think you have potential.” Castiel stopped to drink some more coffee. Coffee that had long stopped being warm and was now nothing more than an excuse.

“And you? Do you think I have potential?” Dean was more interested in that than any official chatter about him.

“I do. I agreed with them. Which is…” Castiel stood up and looked around the relatively cheerful room. Ruby had insisted on lacy curtains over the windows which were shit at blocking out much light but looked pretty enough. The newspaper, the remains of breakfast. It was ridiculously domestic. “Do you know what it would mean?”

“Tell me, Cas. Will it be worse than that fucking red dirt?” Dean tried a toothy grin. Cas wasn’t charmed and, worse, didn’t seem to react to the humour at all. That made Dean pause. “What would it mean, Cas?”

“You can’t tell Sam. You can’t tell anyone. You’d be better off making them think you are dead because their lives will be in danger.” Castiel slammed his hand down on the table, anger shattering his cool façade. “I don’t want this, Dean.”

Dean leaned back, relying on his ability to keep cool under fire to deal with the sudden lurch his stomach gave. Castiel didn’t want him. No. That wasn’t what he’d said.

“You don’t want me to work with me?” Dean asked, watching Castiel carefully. Cas ran his hand through his hair, dishevelling the neat crop. He didn’t say anything. “You don’t think Sam can cope. He manages when I’m on deployment.”

“This is… different. You’ll compromise, Dean.” Castiel came close again, hand outstretched as if he wanted to hold Dean, shake him. Draw him in for a kiss. Anything. “I don’t want you to compromise who you are.”

“I think that boat sailed quite some time ago, Cas.” Dean stood up, coming close. He knew he shouldn’t push Castiel like this but the need to feel the warmth of his body, to feel his touch was nearly overwhelming.

Castiel nodded, agreeing with him, perhaps. Then he seemed to realise how very close Dean had come. His outstretched arm crossed the space between them, fingertips sinking into the soft, worn cotton of Dean’s t-shirt. The warmth seemed to zip through Dean as if no cloth was in its way. He wasn’t sure who moved first but Cas and he met in the middle, Cas’ hand trapped between them as they kissed. Castiel’s mouth was hard and hot and there were even teeth that clashed and then turned into something entirely more desirable as their mouths moved together. Cas tasted of bitter coffee and Dean hoped the traces of alcohol he’d woken up with were gone.

As soon as it started, it ended. Castiel wiped his hand across his mouth as he spun back and away from Dean, eyes dark with something that could as easily have been hatred as have been lust. Dean sank back into his seat, using the table to hide the bulge in his sweats.

“So…” Dean stopped. He didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to ask if that was all Castiel wanted – a quick fuck. And part of him was more than happy for that to happen. He hadn’t dated – men or women – since Castiel. He hadn’t hooked up. Nothing and nobody seemed to be anywhere near as enticing as the blank faced man in front of him that seemed to be shutting himself off more and more.

“I was debriefed. I explained that you played along with the Misha persona in order to maintain the cover. They accepted that.” Castiel pulled a thick envelope from his inside pocket. He laid it on the table. “If you can stick to that explanation – if you can pretend that nothing happened between us – the job will be yours.”

Castiel gathered his coat, leaving Dean sitting at the desk, dick throbbing worse than his head. “What’s the job, Cas? What would I be giving up my life for?”

Cas paused, hand on the doorjamb. His eyes were resigned. “They want you to come work with us. They want you to be a spy, Dean.” He nodded at the letter. “I’ll let myself out.”

 

The envelope lay unopened on the table when Sam and Ruby came back from the store. Dean had showered, washed up, done a load of laundry and was vacuuming when Sam wandered through from the kitchen with it in his hand.

Dean switched off the vacuum. "Hey. Cas left that for me."

"Because blank manila envelopes are a real sign of friendship." Dean cursed Sam's sarcasm. He had no one to blame but himself. He was the one who had taught the brat by example.

"Castiel came with a job offer. I'm not sure I'm going to take it up." Dean reached for the envelope but Sam held it up high above his head. Dean thought about tackling his brother to the floor but there was a good chance that he'd break something and then Ruby would be pissed and Sam wouldn't get laid and Sam would be pissed and it would just be a whole cycle of pissy gloom. "It's still military. Kinda."

"Castiel didn't look like a soldier, Dean. I thought you said he was mostly an interpreter." His brother wasn't letting him out of this easily. Dean cast another baleful glance at the envelope that was brushing the ceiling and slumped down into the armchair he always thought of as his.

"Yeah. He's some kind of language nut. Speaks like ten languages. It's cool." Dean had no trouble letting Sam see his admiration.

"And he wants you to help with that? Dude, you barely passed high school Spanish." Sam settled on the sofa and flipped the envelope in his hands. He must have been thinking as he didn't press Dean for any more details. "He's not regular military." Sam's voice was soft.

Dean listened to the buzz of suburban Sunday afternoon: kids on bikes, lawnmowers, the occasional passing car. It was what he'd thought of as home when he'd been overseas. He had a photo of Sam and him and both their parents in front of a white house. Sam was a newborn pretty much, a tiny baby, no sign of the giant he'd grow into. Dean had his hands wrapped around the blanketed form very carefully. His mom had her arms around them both, holding them safe - probably supporting the baby. Dean couldn't have been more than four. His dad was clean shaven and without the constant lines that pulled his mouth down in later years. His mom looked happy, with a smile that met her eyes. That was the home that came to mind. Of course, none of that existed any more - his mom had died in the fire that wrecked the house, Sam had grown up, his dad had passed.

Maybe Cas was right. When everything else was gone, he still had Sam. But Sam was grown and responsible and he didn't want to be the brother stuck in his brother's basement when Ruby finally managed to finagle Sam down the aisle and make an honest man of him.

Dean opened the envelope when Sam handed it over.

 

Three sheets of paper were all that Dean had to tie him back to Castiel. One was an official letter, vague, offering him an opportunity to apply for a position within a branch of the US Government with an interview date and time. The second was instructions on the documentation he needed to provide. The last was a map. To a building. In Washington, D.C. Dean read over everything carefully and considered rubbing lemon over the paper and holding it over a flame to see if there was anything in invisible ink. He decided not to (they were out of lemons anyway). After a few days of changing his mind, however, it looked like Mr Winchester was going to Washington.

Dean considered flying out - the trip wouldn't take too long that way - but his old childhood fear of planes reared its head. Obviously he had overcome it in the course of his time in the Army but something deep in his gut still didn't trust anything that small that high up in the air. Sam had spent a good five minutes laughing at him when Dean had laid out his plan to drive but been supportive enough, drinking beer and handing over tools while Dean tuned up his car. A week before Dean was due to set off, Sam had another surprise for him.

"So I got some time off work." Sam waited until Dean had a full mouth before he spoke. Ruby frowned but didn't interrupt while Dean chewed and swallowed.

"Yeah?"

"I'm coming with you. I reckon I can take in some museums while you test for this new job. I can fly back if you get it and share the driving either way." Sam shrugged. He tried to look like he didn't care if Dean wanted him to come or not. The gleam in his eyes when he looked up at Dean from his plate gave away his trepidation.

Dean set his fork down. "It'll be like old times. Family Vacation: Winchester Style."

Sam groaned, but not before a wide grin snuck across his face. "No prank wars. I mean it."

"Whatever you say, bitch." Dean tried to hide his own smile, especially when Ruby stomped off to get ready for work. Annoying his sister-in-law-to-be was just another fringe benefit.

 

The idea of riding with his brother wore thin after about an hour. Sam turned the radio off and twisted around in his seat until he was looking at Dean straight on. Dean kept his eyes on the road. The black top was straight and flat ahead of him - he'd stayed off the interstate to let his baby run free but he'd need to start heading south soon and that meant more traffic. Sam took the nearly empty road as a cue to start the interrogation.

"Castiel's not your usual type." Sam had his hands folded primly in his lap. He looked like a prissy librarian. If he had glasses, Dean had no doubt he'd be peering over the top of them.

"I don't want to talk about it, Sam. The dating thing is definitely done. He's just going to be a work colleague. We may not even end up in the same office." Dean had been telling himself the same thing for weeks on end. Ever since he'd phoned the number on the bottom of the letter and confirmed his attendance at the interview. His subconscious had somewhat different ideas, providing lurid and full-technicolor memories in both dreams and in those unguarded private moments when Dean's cock demanded his complete attention.

Sam wasn’t going to let it go that easily. “Uh-huh. So you’re interviewing in our nation’s capital for no chance at getting back in his pants.”

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He didn’t really want to talk about this. Sam had obviously been taking lessons in caring and sharing. From who, Dean didn’t know. Ruby really wasn’t the caring and sharing type. The only thing she and Sam seemed to have in common was a liking for loud, frequent, wall-slamming sex that Dean could hear even in the basement. He hadn’t mentioned it to Sam, not even to make him blush.

“Cas is part of it, yeah. But I’m doing this for me. Need a change of scene, Sammy, and I don’t want to head back overseas.” Dean hissed a breath out between his clenched teeth. “I’m not really good for much-“ Sam protested automatically but Dean waved him silent. “You only get the chick flick moment this time. I’m not a brainiac like you. I’m not going to be happy being a mechanic like Dad. Fuck it, I don’t really know what I want to do. But these guys came to me, Sam. And if they think I’ve got what it takes…”

Sam sat silently for a few minutes. When he opened his mouth like a goldfish a few times, Dean took pity on him.

“And I’m not living in your basement for the rest of my natural life. Ruby’d kill me.” Dean flicked the radio on and turned it up loud. They had a lot of miles to cover before their first stop that night.

 

Night had fallen when they drove into Washington. Dean could feel the sunburn from where they'd stopped at Gettysburg to take photos with cannon - "Cannon, Sam. Cannon," he had crowed, being all the excuse Dean had given before hooking an arm over a metal barrel - tightening the skin over his nose. He'd have a new crop of freckles when he looked in the motel mirror later. But it had been worth it to see Sam geeking out over the historical site. Sam would be going even deeper into geek overdrive in the museums soon enough - he'd even bought a guidebook at one of the gas stations they'd stopped at before starting the final leg of their journey. Sam had got four pages in before dropping off to sleep as Dean got caught up in the tail end of the heavy traffic. He'd been slowed to a crawl on the outskirts – and was wholly tempted to skip the city altogether - but the thought of Sam's face as they saw the landmarks that were as familiar as breathing made him feel sentimental again. It would also help him to forget the odd unease he’d felt ever since Cas had told him it might be better if Sam thought he was dead.

Traffic eased as Dean manoeuvred the car through the broad streets. It was weirdly quiet as he finally turned onto a street running parallel to the Mall and poked at Sam. They couldn't get any closer than this unless he found a parking garage and they walked and Dean was definitely too tired for that. But Sam plastered himself against the window as the Capitol, the Washington Monument and the White House rolled past, lit up and gleaming whiter than white. Dean paid his own tribute as he drove over the bridge towards Arlington on the way out of the city to their motel. He'd stood at attention in the seemingly endless rows of neat white headstones as his old staff sergeant was buried. He knew a few other men that ended up there but he hadn't attended those funerals, being out in the heat and dust of the Afghan mountains at the time. He liked the Iwo Jima statue, sure enough, but couldn't help thinking those guys had it simple. They had an end in sight.

Sam was quiet, leaving Dean with his thoughts as he drove the final few miles into Virginia. Dean felt nervous suddenly. It was real now. This wasn't a roadtrip with his brother anymore, an extended vacation. This was real. If he fucked this up, he was going to have to fall back on a Plan B he wasn't even sure he’d worked out. Nerves and a whole lot of worry kept him tossing and turning in the masterpiece of beige they'd ended up in. Sam snored peacefully, sleep of the just and all.

 

Dean straightened his tie one more time before pushing open the glass door of the nondescript building. He'd checked the address, checked the street three times before entering. He was early. Sam had prodded food into him before he hopped on the Metro into DC leaving Dean alone to stew. Sam had been wearing flip flops and jeans and Dean felt ridiculous in his shirt and pants and shiny polished shoes. Going by what Cas tended to wear normally, Dean would need to get used to the suit. It was de rigueur for government spooks after all. Men in black. Dean had a little bit of a Will Smith moment when the woman behind the desk checked him out before welcoming him. Cas definitely didn’t make it look this good.

Dean had to wait in the reception area. It was completely bare – no magazines or leaflets – just two black leather couches, elevator doors and the reception desk. The woman typed away at her computer and ignored him and Dean wiped his hands on his pants and tried to think calm thoughts.

The suit that showed up to take him into the elevator was all smiles. Slimy, overenthusiastic smiles, with a voice that was more James Bond than Jason Bourne, if pop culture spies could even be thought of in this place. “Lieutenant Winchester? I’m Balthazar.” Dean didn’t want to ask if this was his real name.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Balthazar.” Dean shook the offered hand. “But I’m a civilian now. Left the army. Just Dean.”

“Ah and I’m just Balthazar.” Another flash of that toothy grin. “I’m hope you’re ready for your testing.”

Dean was still nervous but now the adrenaline had kicked in. He could handle anything these suits threw at him. He was a soldier and, even though he’d spent a hell of a lot of time sitting on his ass for the past six weeks, he was a well-trained one-man killing machine. That was why the first test was some kind of psychometric IQ “if John has four apples and a bazooka…” type thing. Dean had done enough of these to know that the secret was to go with your instinct most of the time and not overthink the answers.

He finished just as the buzzer on the tiny alarm clock went. He hadn’t even realised he’d been timed. Instead of worrying about it, he sat back in the metal chair and watched the blank grey walls. One wall was obviously a two way mirror. Dean half-heartedly hoped Cas was on the other side of that, watching him succeed. It wasn’t arrogance that made him think that. It was the befuddled crease between Balthazar’s eyes that deepened as he flicked through the pages.

“Physical. And marksmanship.” His voice was as sleazy as ever but there was a little note of respect buried in there now. Buried deep.

 

Of course Cas finally appeared when Dean was wiped out from the endurance run. He’d always hated it – run from one end of the hall to another repetitively. He didn’t mind the treadmill - hell, he didn’t mind running in the desert. But that constant to and fro, to and fro, with the same walls and the need to keep his mind on the run and not let himself slide off into his own thoughts made it somehow harder work. They’d let him shoot his way through a nice selection of automatic weaponry first, for which he was grateful. He’d half-suspected they’d shove a gun into his hands when he was almost too shaky to hold it up. Instead they let him lie flat out on the floor, waiting for his heartbeat to return to near normal.

He knew he looked disgusting. His sweat had soaked all his clothes through and they clung to him in slimy, wet, gross slicks of material. His hair felt gritty. His chest was still rising and falling like bellows. And when Cas, neat in his suit – well, as neat as he ever got - Dean’s hands itched with the sudden need to straighten his tie - stepped up to meet his gaze, Dean could do nothing more than let his eyes flutter shut and open again. He could only manage a ripple of fingers.

“I have come to say that your testing for the day is over and you can return to your motel. Would you like me to show you the showers?” Castiel’s voice and expression were professional and detached but his eyes betrayed him. They roamed over Dean’s body, snagging at his waist where his t-shirt had risen up. Cas held out a hand after looking too long but Dean waved it off.

“I’m gross, man. Just lead the way.” Dean stumbled to his feet and looked tiredly at Cas. “Am I coming back tomorrow?”

Castiel looked around – a bizarre action considering the security cameras in every room – and nodded. “I don’t know if I’m the one to tell you that.”

“S’cool. I can meet Sam for dinner.” Dean bit at his lip. He really shouldn’t invite Cas along for all he wanted to.

“I have some paperwork to catch up on.” There was a flash of hurt on Castiel’s face before he buried it beneath his impassive mask once more. “You should try some of the steak houses. They are very good.”

“Thanks, Cas-tiel.” Dean tacked on the second syllable as Balthazar came through the door. With some odd bolt of inspiration, he realised that both their names had a certain biblical nature and once more was convinced that Castiel was not the man he thought he knew. A code name. It had to be. Dean stiffly walked behind the suit clad pair as he made his way to the showers and stood under the steaming hot water. Secrets within secrets, buried deeper and deeper. On the other hand, for all the issues he might have going on with Cas, steak did sound like a good plan. At least he could count on Sam to be the one person he knew through and through, no subterfuge.

 

Sam was more than happy to cover any gaps in conversation with geeking out over the sights he’d seen that day. Dean laughed in the right places. He hadn’t really Sam act like this since they were kids, before Dad died, but it was familiar and family. He’d seen Sam like this during his time at college. Dean had only visited Sam at Stanford that once, met his girlfriend, seen his dorms. His baby brother’s 21st birthday had been lucky enough to coincide with a four week leave and Dean had hit up California. He’d only stayed a few days – gotten drunk and hit on by kids that were way too young for him, enjoyed the flirting and the chase – before heading to see his dad. His dad, who wasn’t really speaking to anyone anymore and seemed more interested in his whiskey bottle than the possibility of Dean looking at officer training or Sam graduating top of his class.

“Earth to Dean, come in.” Sam kicked gently at Dean’s shin. Dean frowned up at his brother and then let out a low whine.

“That hurt, you yeti.” Dean scowled but it was mainly in jest. “I was just thinking about visiting you out in Stanford.”

Sam’s face froze but not before Dean could see a flicker of something he hoped was anger and something he (definitely) recognised as regret. “We’ve both changed a lot since then.”

Dean didn’t want to dwell – or force Sam to dwell – any longer. “Well, Sammy. Here’s to changes.” He held out his beer bottle and Sam clanked his own against it. “Time definitely doesn’t stay still for us Winchester boys.”

Sam let out a laugh which was covered by a cough. “Such a cheeseball, Dean.” There was very little sign of the harassed lawyer or henpecked fiancé in Sam right there. He had his old brother back, in a small way, for a short while.

Dean shrugged. “So what’re you doing tomorrow?”

Sam drifted off into a discussion of the merits of the National Archives versus the aquarium. Dean was on the side of the fish.

 

Dean’s second day at the nondescript office block was more interrogation than interview. His military record, his personal life, his school report cards were picked over with a fine-tooth comb. Dean had bristled at the start – his life was his life and this was an invasion of privacy and – then he realised what it meant. He was in. They wouldn’t be bothering with this level of interview if he wasn’t in. Balthazar made one of his sour smirks when Dean seemed to relax and co-operate fully. He looked to the mirror when Dean leaned back and slouched in his chair, raising an eyebrow.

Dean’s “conversation” hadn’t lasted much longer. Balthazar slimed out of the room, arms laden with files and Dean was left in the bare grey room, staring at himself in the mirrored window. Dean had once spent three days on surveillance guarding a sniper. He could sit still and not twitch or display any sign of anxiety or interior worry. He was impassive, still and ready.

A bald man, weirdly cheery after Castiel’s serenity and Balthazar’s smug sleaze, came in carrying a thin manila folder. “Mr Winchester. I’m Zachariah.”

Dean shook his hand before settling back into his seat. Zachariah would get to the point soon enough. Dean knew his type. They would try to freak you out, make you break, but they didn’t have the right kind of patience. They would bluster and threaten before too long. Dean could wait him out.

“Mr Winchester, we would like to offer you a position with our agency.” Dean bit down his smirk. “Contracts and the usual secrecy acts requiring your signature are here. Before we can go any further, I need you to sign them.” Zachariah opened the file and fussed, placing the three pieces of paper in front of Dean perfectly parallel.

“Aren’t you scared I’m going to say no?” Dean asked. He knew he wouldn’t. He’d come all this way after all.

Zachariah looked furious – face flushing an uncomfortable shade of puce and ire flooding his eyes – before he got it under control. “No one says no to us.”

Dean shrugged and picked up the contract. He’d need to read it carefully and it weighed a hefty amount. “You got a pen?”

 

It was nearing lunchtime when Dean finished signing the final document. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary in them for all that this was a super-secret agency. It wasn’t the CIA – that much was clear. This was an agency that seemed to be under the umbrella of black ops. Dean had worried about that for a few moments. Then he remembered all the paperwork and bureaucracy that was endemic even at his level in the army. There would be oversight. He wasn’t working entirely out on the fringes of legality. Just enough to keep it exciting.

Dean was pleasantly surprised to be shown to the mess when he was done. They'd given him a sandwich in the testing room - the interrogation room where he'd taken his tests - yesterday. This was much better. There wasn't much beyond a range of sandwiches, a cooler of water and a soda fountain and a microwave but it was better than field rations, that was for sure. It also gave him a chance to eye up the rest of his new colleagues. There were a couple of other agents scattered around the tables. Zachariah abandoned Dean to go and speak to a large, dangerous looking man on the far side of the room.

"That's Uriel." Castiel's voice was soft but it still made Dean jump a little. Dean tried to cover up his scare and wondered why Cas was so quiet. Maybe it was because he was frightened of him. Dean could easily be scared of the huge man. "Come eat with us."

Dean let himself be lead over to a table with Balthazar - who looked less slimy now he wasn't trying to get a reaction out of Dean - and two strangers. The woman had long red hair and a distracted expression on her face. The man was shorter and much more animated, waving his fork around in a manner that could be considered dangerous. "Anna, Gabe - this is Dean."

The look on their faces made Dean a little uncomfortable. It was clear that they both knew exactly who he was and exactly what he and Cas had done up in the Afghan mountains. Dean covered his unease with a grin, a wave and took a seat before attacking his sandwich. He kept his head down and let the others talk about last night's television.

He nodded goodbyes to the others as they left. Castiel remained. "Anna? Gabe? Pretty normal names."

Castiel shook his head. "Ananael. And Gabriel. Those are their names."

"Kinda religious?" Dean downed some more of his water.

Castiel tapped his fingers lightly on the table beside his tray. "There were some security threats and it was decided to assign all agents false identities." He looked sharply at Dean. "I presume you will be asked to choose a name - or assigned one - shortly."

"So Castiel isn't your real name." Dean folded his hands under the table.

"It is and it isn't." Cas looked frustrated at that, like he didn’t know quite how to explain it. "I've been Castiel for so long now. And it is a better reflection of who I am than any of the other names I've ever had."

Dean didn't quite understand but he nodded anyway. "Any chance I could call Sam? I need to let him know I got the job. He'll want to celebrate but he needs to book a flight back to Kansas."

"Not back home?" Castiel looked curious even as he got to his feet and dumped his garbage in the trash.

"Nah. My home is here, right? Shit. I'm going to need to find an apartment again." Dean groaned at the thought.

Castiel paused in the doorway. "I have a spare room."

Dean nodded, mulling it over as he dialled Sam's cell from the overly complicated phone in the conference room Cas led him to. There were pros and cons but, at the end of the day, getting to know Castiel better seemed like the best option. Dean was pathetic enough to take whatever contact he could. After leaving a message for Sam, Dean put the phone down and turned to Castiel. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Castiel hesitated but nodded after a moment. His hand rose and hovered in the space between them, a charge in the air now. Dean wondered if Castiel was about to grab him, kiss him, when Zachariah appeared at the door.

"Ah, Mr Winchester. A few more details to organise and then we can get your training regimen started."

"Training? But I thought I got the job." Dean looked between Castiel and Zachariah. Zachariah was almost rubbing his hands with glee.

"Oh, Mr Winchester. This is just the start of your new life. Lots to do."

 

Dean’s new life took on some kind of odd 80s training montage for the next few months. Every single one of his fighting skills were tested, including learning more hand to hand combat and martial arts. He had files upon files to read and briefings to attend. At the end of the day, all he wanted to do was crawl into the bed Sam had shipped along with the rest of his belongings and smother himself in the pillows. He couldn’t even summon up the energy to imagine Cas right there with him.

Every day was some kind of torture when it came to Castiel. Dean wasn’t training with him most of the time – Balthazar and Gabriel seemed to split that between them – but not a day went by when he didn’t see Cas. The sightings snuck up on him. Their only link was their unpredictability. Castiel would slide into the seat beside him for coffee or lunch, or would drop off files. They sometimes met in the kitchen or in the hallways of Castiel’s surprisingly spacious apartment despite the routines that seemed diametrically opposed. Once he came around a corner and Castiel was speaking French into a phone, free arm waving in a most Gallic fashion. Dean was reminded of his Misha persona then, that free, easy and willing side of Castiel. Luckily the way Balthazar hit him in the gut with a padded stave during the training session he was already late to cured Dean of any lingering distraction. Or arousal.

Even with the exhaustion and the bruises, Dean could tell he was improving. He was faster, stronger and better prepared for anything that he’d ever been. He even managed to stop some of Balthazar’s sneaky attacks.

It was a Tuesday morning when Dean finally stopped being a trainee and slid towards becoming an actual agent. There was an expectant hush in the office when he stepped off the elevator, a tension in the way people were running around. Castiel was standing in the middle of the highly organised chaos holding a file. An almost smile flickered across his face when he saw Dean before blank professionalism took over.

“Follow me.” Dean trailed Castiel into a small conference room Dean had never been in before. The room was sparse – large television screens and a long black table with metal chairs the only decoration. Dean took the seat he was directed too. Castiel sat opposite him before flicking the file across the table. “You’ll need to read this.”

Dean drew it towards him, a clenching in the pit of his stomach like the night before an important mission beginning. This was it. Things were about to “get real”.

The file contained details on a businessman who seemed to be funding some kind of group identified by the name H.E.L.L. Dean sniggered a little at that but buried his humour at Castiel’s blank stare and continued to read. The only problem was the need to acquire enough proof to detain the businessman. Dean looked at the black and white shot of Roger Whitlock grabbed from a surveillance camera for a long moment. He didn’t look like one of the bad guys and Dean remembered with a sinking feeling what being unable to tell allies from enemies felt like.

“Doesn’t the Patriot Act let you bag him and question him without any real need for proof? I thought suspicion of being involved in terrorism was enough.” Dean finally asked, closing the file.

“We don’t want him, not really.” Castiel pressed a few buttons on the table and one of the screens flickered to life. “We’re trying to get a lead on this guy.” Another surveillance photograph, fuzzier this time, popped up on the screen. Dean could just make out stubble and piercing eyes. “Nick Star. But we don’t think that’s his real name. He’s also known as Lucifer.”

“It’s a whole theme thing. Like you guys. With the angels.” Dean had to temper his inappropriate urge to snigger again. “It’s like you were meant to battle each other.”

“Lucifer used to be one of us.” Castiel’s voice was bleak. “He destroyed a lot of what we worked for. He-“

“He killed your friends.” Dean could understand that pain a little too well. Too many guys he’d served with had gone home in flag draped coffins, killed in countries that most of them couldn’t have found on a map. “So this is revenge.”

“No.” Cas was fierce this time. “He needs to be stopped.” His zeal was almost incandescent, tangible.

Dean watched Cas across the table as he slowly unclenched his fists and laid his hands flat on the table. “And he doesn’t know me? Right? That’s why you needed new blood.”

“You will be an exemplary agent, Dean. You are worth more to the agency than just ‘new blood’ but the director… He thinks you might be Michael.” Castiel looked at Dean expectantly, obviously presuming that Dean would understand the reference. Dean shook his head. “The Archangel Michael? The one who cast Lucifer down?”

“Unless he did it with automatic weaponry, I’m probably not who you are looking for.” Dean smirked at the soft, annoyed huff Cas let loose. It felt good to get some kind of reaction from the guy after all. Dean couldn’t help but soften. “But I’ll help, Cas.” He left off the addendum that he’d do it for Castiel. He’d do anything for Castiel, not that he’d ever say it.

The door to the conference room opened, meaning neither of them had the chance to respond. Castiel stood up and Dean clambered up a moment later. A man who radiated power stood at the head of the table. He nodded at Castiel before turning the power of his gaze onto Dean. Dean fought the urge to gulp and nodded pleasantly. He was still glad when the man broke his stare to wave them back into their seats. As if that was a prearranged signal, Zachariah, Gabe and Anna joined them, taking seats at the table.

“Roger Whitlock. I presume you’re up to date, Mr Winchester.” Dean nodded. The man waved at Castiel who pressed a few buttons and a map appeared with a few locations highlighted. As Dean turned to listen, Gabe leaned close to whisper in his ear.

“Assistant Director Raphael. Gets his orders direct from the big man.” Dean flashed him a grin before turning his full attention to Castiel. 

 

Listening to Castiel lay out the plan had been a whole lot easier than carrying it through. Dean had to swallow repeatedly as he checked himself over in the mirror in the bathroom in the hotel suite they’d adopted as the base of their operations. His tie was straight, his hair was slicked back and his shoes were shined to a high sheen. He could see his face in them just like in his old dress uniform shoes. They had fit like a second skin. This felt like a Hallowe’en costume and Dean was convinced that anyone who looked at him would know he didn’t fit in.

Dean also knew nothing about opera, but here he was about to try and sneak unnoticed into the opening gala at the Met and blend seamlessly into the crowd. A tapping on the door let him know he had no other options. This was his first real test. Dean pasted a cocky grin on his face and opened the door.

The luxury suite resembled an electronics store more than a bedroom as Gabriel finished setting out his equipment. The multitude of screens were bewildering – everything from infrared surveillance to radio scanners and green blooping spinny things Dean suspected might be screen savers. Castiel was equally dressed up in a tuxedo but he wore his with an ease that suggested long familiarity. He froze when Dean came through the door, eyes suddenly more blue and intense than before. His mouth was open and he shut it with a snap, dropping his eyes to the ground as Dean looked down to see what was wrong.

“Hey – here’s your ear piece.” Dean fixed the tiny device into his ear. No one should see it unless they were licking his ear lobe or something. He’d practiced enough in training that he could run through the basic checks without prompting. Gabe nodded, receiving loud and clear. Castiel fitted his own device and Dean could hear his whispers clearly as well. “Your tickets.” Gabe handed them over. “Your ID for the night. And the fingerprint capture device.” Dean tucked everything away neatly, secreting the gadget in his inside pocket. Gabriel had made him practise with it on the flight up until Dean knew exactly what to do.

Roger Whitlock was rumoured to have an interest in handsome men, so Dean was apparently the honey in this trap. Castiel was back up. He knew what most of Lucifer’s agents looked like – or the ones they knew about looked like anyway – and he would watch Dean’s back. There was a slight chance that Whitlock knew what Castiel looked like, although Dean didn’t believe anyone could connect the downright elegant man in front of him with the rumpled agent he knew. It was hard to keep his eyes off him – the way the jacket hung across his shoulders, emphasising his neat waist. The way his legs seemed to go on forever in his dress slacks. Dean pretended to be watching his feet as he followed Cas down to the limo, definitely not admiring the way his ass looked. Dean worried at his bottom lip. Castiel had shown no interest in reviving their romantic attachment – or even in some stress relieving fucking - treating him as nothing more than a colleague and a totally platonic roommate and Dean – well. Dean just had to accept that.

But it was hard when Castiel looked so downright edible.

Nothing had prepared Dean for the sight of the Met Opera. From the outside it was actually kinda ugly – a big cream square building. He was tempted to take a picture of the fountain outside. Bill Murray had danced around it in Ghostbusters and Sam would get a kick out of that. But this wasn’t the time. Dean was swallowed by the crowd of elegantly dressed men and women and swept up the steps and into the foyer. Here it was much more impressive – red plush everywhere and a glorious modern chandelier swirling down from the high roof. Dean handed over his ticket, collected a glass of champagne and unobtrusively made his way to the wall. To anyone else, it looked as if he was part of the group admiring and listening attentively to an older woman in an eye-smartingly bright green dress. Dean nodded when they nodded and laughed when they laughed and watched the comings and goings by the door. He saw Castiel come in and take up a position similar to his on the far side of the steps leading to the auditorium. Instead of watching Cas, however, he kept scanning the room.

His covering group was starting to make their way to the stairs when Whitlock came through the door. Dean smiled. He drifted along, looking at his ticket and pretending puzzlement until he stopped right in the path of the man. Inevitably, Whitlock ran into Dean, making the carefully placed glass of champagne slosh over his shirt. It was cold and Dean didn’t have to fake all of the shock on his face.

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t know where-“

“It’s entirely my fault.” Whitlock brought a cloth handkerchief out of his top pocket and started to pat at Dean. His movements changed after a moment’s hesitation, a brief appraisal of Dean. “You must let me make it up to you. Join me in my box.” The interest, overdone and creepy, was overwhelming.

Dean nodded. He could definitely collect the fingerprints alone in a box. “Don’t you have anyone else to share it with?”

A bell started ringing and the stragglers made their way to the seats. “No, not tonight,” Whitlock assured him, tucking an arm through Dean’s and pulling him with surprising strength. “You haven’t been to one of these before.”

Dean ducked his head bashfully. “I’m new in town. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. My brother got me the ticket.”

Whitlock’s eyes softened at that. “Big brother?”

“Well, he’s taller than me but I’m still his big brother.” Dean was worried about using his real life as part of this cover but it added authenticity, he reckoned. “I tried to get tickets for Tosca but it was sold out. This was a real surprise.”

Whitlock made a humpf noise, inelegant in the extreme. Dean was shocked by it. “You wouldn’t have liked it. They changed the ending.”

Dean nodded, agreeable, as he was towed towards a row of doors. Most were closed but a steward stood by an open one, gesturing inside impatiently. Dean didn’t have to fake his intake of breath at the size of the theatre – it wasn’t a patch on the baseball stadiums he’d been to, but the array of overdressed people emanating wealth and refinement surprised him. The box didn’t provide a brilliant view of the stage but he could definitely see all the other people in the place – and they could see him. Castiel took a seat in the dress circle, on an aisle, and nodded to Dean subtly. Dean relaxed back against the arm along the back of his chair, for all that his skin crawled.

 

The music was… not his thing, to be genteel about it. Too much screeching and clutching at bosoms. He recognised a few of the tunes and was grateful for Gabriel’s soft voice in his ear providing suitable responses to Whitlock’s comments, most of which were just agreement. That was what Whitlock wanted after all – someone to agree with him. At the interval, Dean was able to take his chance, swapping his empty glass with Whitlock’s and letting it drop by his side while Whitlock was distracted by the people hob-nobbing with him - business types and their wives, whose eyes brightened and dimmed just as quickly when they saw Dean and then saw the possessive arm Whitlock kept around him. During the next series of incomprehensible screeching, Dean used the darkness of the box to scan the glass with Gabriel’s tiny box. He dropped it back into his pocket just as Whitlock turned to him to ask about the duet taking place.

“It’s very romantic.” Whitlock’s voice had grown husky and promising. Dean leaned in, hoping that if Whitlock was to notice the pounding of his heart, he’d put it down to excitement and not to the panic Dean felt. What if the prints were no good? How far would he have to carry this charade? His ear piece crackled when the next piece of music began.

“It’s good, Dean. Zachariah wants you to play along a bit more. See if you can be invited to his loft.” Dean reached up to scratch his nose and hide his “affirmative” response. “Castiel will drop you a bugging kit and one of Gabriel’s tools that will let us hack into his computer. Be ready on the way out.”

Dean looked up to see Castiel watching him fiercely. He shrugged lightly – this was something they’d discussed but discounted. Dean was to get in and out clean. But Dean couldn’t argue with orders and it would help. He buried the thought that this meant he could prove himself worthy. Prove that they’d made a correct choice in recruiting him.

Castiel left halfway through something a bit more light-hearted. Dean was shocked at the display of a man, the woman he presumed was his wife, and his son in the middle of an upright bed all groping and writhing while singing. From the laughter going on, it was obvious that this was supposed to be hilarious rather than sick and tragic. The applause at the end covered a swift comms argument where Castiel seemed to be arguing with everyone about Dean’s readiness. Dean’s gut churned and he had to paste a smile on his face when Whitlock turned to him.

“What are your plans for later?” Whitlock asked, leaning in after the audience started to settle again.

“Back to my apartment, I guess. I was going to soak up the atmosphere and leave when there was half a chance I could get a cab.” Dean put on his most pitiful expression, looking up at Whitlock through his eyelashes. “Got a better offer?”

Dean worried he’d pushed it too far but Whitlock didn’t seem to care from the greedy expression he now wore.

“Come home with me. I can lend you another shirt and get yours laundered. It’s the least I can do.” This time, Whitlock’s arm drifted off the back of the chair and slid more definitely across Dean’s shoulders. Dean leaned into the touch as the music swelled again. He could do this. The final crackle through his earpiece was a question from Gabriel.

“Are you saying Dean can’t do this?”

Castiel’s denial was fierce. “Of course he can do it. I just don’t want him to have to.” Comms went silent after that as Dean felt a warmth spread through him. There was a little capsule in the kit Gabriel would be passing to Cas. Dean could use that and leave Whitlock none the wiser about the lack of conclusion in his planned night of passion. Dean’s happiness at Castiel’s belief would take longer to dissolve than that capsule in the glass of champagne Whitlock was sure to offer him.

 

The plane back to HQ was slightly strained. Gabriel ignored everyone as he tapped away, letting out shouts of triumph now and again. Dean’s escapades had proved fruitful after all and the computer was spilling all its secrets under Gabriel’s dancing fingers. Anna was buried reading a file and Zachariah had slid headphones on and sunk into sleep. It was Castiel’s glare that made Dean want to scrub his skin off.

After half an hour of intense staring, Dean decided he’d had enough. He wandered into the tiny galley, pulling the curtain tight as he breathed in the Castiel-free space. It wasn’t like he was proud of using his looks to trap even a guilty man but hopefully the info gained was worth the risk. He was just going about getting it in a different way.

The curtain was jerked back and Castiel pushed into the tight space. He meticulously sealed the Velcro tabs before turning to Dean. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean folded his arms and stared. Castiel was really too close. It was more than the lack of space, the confines of the galley. Castiel was breaking all the rules of behaviour, leaning far into Dean’s personal space. Still Dean refused to speak. He did lift an eyebrow though.

“You did well.” The words seemed forced from Castiel’s mouth. “It was a very successful mission.”

Dean just kept looking. He was all but biting his tongue as the silence lengthened again.

Castiel ran his hands through his hair, a break in his usual calm demeanour. “Did you- Did you have to kiss him?” This was even more a wrench, Cas’ voice wrecked and broken.

“Cas-“ Dean didn’t know what to say. He wanted to explain, to justify. Equally Castiel should have known what he was doing. It was classic distraction technique. Hell, Dean had been the attempted victim of it on a number of occasions.

The air seemed sucked out of the space as Castiel pressed forward, closing the gap between them and cupping Dean’s cheek in his hand. The press of his mouth was both expected and unexpected, warm and hard and familiar. Dean tried to control the soft sound that involuntarily escaped him as he parted his lips, let Castiel take what he wanted, let Cas kiss the memory of that fake, passionless kiss away. Dean kept his hands locked on the counter, not wanting to pull Castiel closer for fear that he wouldn’t be able to let him go.

They separated for air, eventually. Dean knew his lips would be puffy, slick and red, as he soothed his tongue over them. “Ask me, Castiel. Ask me and I won’t- Not any more. Not even for a mission.”

The words were whispered, soft, low and totally private between them. Castiel continued to breathe raggedly, chest rising and falling beneath his shirt, heart on display. He kept his eyes on Dean’s mouth before raising them reluctantly to meet them. “Please, Dean. Don’t kiss anyone.“

“I won’t, you won’t. No one else.” It felt good to say it, finally. “Guess I’ll have to prove I’m more than just a pretty face.” Dean tried to lighten the moment with his joke but Castiel looked serious as he stroked his thumb over the curve of Dean’s cheekbone. The regard in his eyes almost made Dean want to pull back, look away embarrassed.

“You have nothing to prove. Not to me. Not to anyone.” Dean knew Cas meant the smirking Zachariah who always seemed ready to ask for more. “You’re-“ Here Castiel lost his words, lost everything just staring at Dean and stroking his thumb back and forth, soft and full of care.

Dean couldn’t resist leaning forward then, asking for another kiss to drive all the memories of other kisses out of his head. Castiel eagerly complied, mouth wet and ready. Dean’s imagination was already skipping forward to what might happen next after the plane landed, after they’d debriefed again, where they might end up. The idea made him roll against Cas, press close. He was back in that tent, halfway up a mountain, dust and heat and enemies all around, where he and Castiel had been the only people in the whole wide world. Dean half hoped the tent of the crisp white sheets on his own bed would be a suitable substitute.

Castiel pulled back so slowly that Dean took a moment to understand what was happening. He let out a complaining noise and tried to pull Castiel back but Cas was immovable. “Not here.”

Dean could understand that, at least. He nodded, sighing, catching his breath again. Castiel stroked along Dean’s jaw as he drew his hand back but he was smiling, a shy, fragile smile. He nodded at Dean and slid back through the curtain separating them from the rest of the cabin. Dean let it flutter closed, using the privacy to get himself under control.

He’d completed his mission. He’d managed to exceed the parameters and deliver a real breakthrough. And he had the promise of something from Castiel. It maybe wasn’t a full declaration of intent but it was at least something he could hold on to. Dean felt good as he settled back into his seat in time for landing.

Any hopes of getting Castiel closer to his bed were dashed when they were met at the foot of the plane's steps by Balthazar. Dean could feel the ache of exhaustion tugging at him, too little sleep before the mission due to unexpected nerves and the travelling and the adrenaline all piling up to make him want a beer, his mattress and a warm chest to lean on. Sadly none of that looked to be possible.

"We have a situation." Balthazar's usual sheen of sleaze had completely dissipated and he was cold, professional and deadly serious. "We need everyone in the office."

 

The car ride was silent as Dean's thoughts swirled. He hadn't spent enough time with the files to know what could have happened. There was nothing on the news he skimmed over on his cell as Castiel tapped his fingers against his thigh in no rhythm. Gabriel and Anna filled out the complement of the car, both quiet and tense, lines clear around their tightly pursed mouths.

The quiet followed them into the parking garage and through to the elevator. The office was full of hushed panic, agents and analysts running around, computers beeping and screens flickering past too quickly for Dean to follow. He was swept into the conference room and took a seat with the others.

"Lucifer made a move while we were focused on New York. He took a professor from Harvard with his wife and two kids." Zachariah pressed a button and a picture - a family snap at a barbecue or a picnic - popped up on a screen. "Meet Professor and Mrs Ulrich and Tom and Kathleen. But it doesn't make sense."

Castiel's intake of breath drew Dean's attention. "You know him?"

"I met him. He's a professor in Ancient Languages." Castiel tapped his fingers on the desk, an urgent, broken pattern. "He did some translation work for us. For me. But Lucifer is interested in business and military installations. Money and power."

"And not professors who specialize in languages that no one but Castiel has ever heard of." Zachariah finished the thought. "I need to know everything about him. And we have to break the encryption on Whitlock's files." Dean watched in amazement as Zachariah ran his hand across his bald head, a sign of near panic in the usual confident man. "Castiel. You take Dean to Boston. Find out- find out everything. Sleep on the plane. Gabriel - you're here with the files. Everyone else, get busy. We have to find out what Lucifer is up to."

Dean half wondered if he could squeeze a shower in somewhere. He felt gritty – always did after a flight. He loosened his tie and popped the top button of his shirt as he followed Castiel out into the hallway, already heading for the exit. He shot a glance at Castiel and it hit him - Castiel was hiding something. Call it instinct, call it knowledge, but Dean knew Cas was hiding something from him.

"What? What is it?" Dean waited until they were alone in the hallway. Castiel looked at him wildly. His eyes were distant for a moment, as if he was seeing Dean overlaid with someone else. Cas shook his head to dispel whatever he was seeing and kept walking.

"Later."

 

Dean surprised himself by sleeping on the plane. He was tucked into a seat in first class beside Cas - a scheduled passenger flight this time. No sense in taking the corporate jet for just the two of them he guessed - and the warmth, the quiet and the sound of Castiel's even breathing was enough to make him drift off.

Castiel woke him halfway into the flight. Night had fallen and the plane's lighting was low. He leaned across the armrest to listen closely to whatever Cas had to tell him.

"When Sam went to Stanford, there was a time the two of you didn't really talk..."

"Wait. What? Sam? My brother?" Cas nodded in answer to Dean's question. "What's he got to do with this?"

"I'm not- Nothing is quite clear yet. But when Sam went to Stanford, he didn't start with pre-law like he finished." Castiel was fixed on Dean. "He originally studied Ancient Languages."

"Like Professor Ulrich? But I thought he was at Harvard." Dean's brain was racing now. Sam would never do anything to get involved with evil terrorists bent on bringing down the government. Sure Sam had that phase where he hated everyone and everything but that was him being all teenager-like and shit. Even Dean had gone through that. His acting out had involved a lot of alcohol and confusing sexual encounters rather than studying.

"That's where he teaches now. He used to teach-"

"Sam. At Stanford. But Sam switched to pre-law. By the time-" Dean thought back to the time he and Sam had met in California, Dean back from his first deployment and Sam thinner and paler than he really should have been. "Something bad happened."

"There was some kind of scandal. A girl died. The Professor was apparently innocent but took the first job he could on the other side of the country. I don't know all the details. I do know that Lucifer was involved." Castiel's lips thinned at the last piece of information.

"Involved how?" Dean’s tone dropped as his worry about his brother grew.

"He was working in the department in some capacity. Doing research. He used an alias, of course, and we're not sure what he was really doing. He was quite thorough in ensuring records were destroyed." Castiel reached over to Dean, laying his hand on his thigh to keep him still. "We know he worked with Sam."

Dean felt his blood freeze. "Did he...?"

"We don't know. But Sam's shift to pre-law suggests he definitely wanted a fresh start. He must have been brilliant to be recruited by Lucifer. Even for a short while. Lucifer knows talent." Castiel sounded bitter at that and Dean suddenly made an unexpected connection.

"He recruited you. To the Agency." Castiel's guilty look was answer enough. "This is personal for you too."

"We have to stop him. We must." Castiel looked around to see whether his vehemence had attracted any unwelcome attention but no one was watching them. "And other than what Sam knows, we have another clue to what they may have been working on."

"You're not going to ask Sam?" Dean was a little confused. Surely that should be their first move.

"We think he is being watched." That caused Dean to panic. Sam might be in danger. "If he's being watched, it’s from a distance. We have assets in place just in case." Cas made a displeased face. "Zachariah thinks he might still be working with Lucifer."

"Sam wouldn't-" Dean couldn't get the words out. His throat was seizing up. The idea of his brother being a... traitor sickened him.

"I believe you, Dean. And I believe in him because of you." Castiel drew his hand back. "Your amulet. Remember how the villagers asked me about it."

"You never translated what they said. Then we were almost ambushed and killed." Dean shook his head. It was hard to reconcile Lieutenant Winchester with the agent who rode in first class and apparently set honey traps for rich gay businessmen.

"The amulet is unusual. For protection, they said. I had forgotten about it until the image showed up in one of Professor Ulrich's books." Castiel flipped the file open and waved it towards Dean.

"Sam gave it to me. Said he found it in a junk shop and thought I'd like it. It was better than a photograph. Wouldn't wrinkle or get ruined in the rain." Dean was worried Cas might think him overly sentimental but he'd pretty much laid himself bare for Cas over and over again. He looked at the file. It was his amulet sure enough.

"It could be nothing." Castiel fiddled with his seat belt and Dean didn't even dignify that with a disbelieving snort. "Sam could be completely unconnected to this all."

Dean closed his eyes again for all that he wasn't tired anymore. The thoughts whirling around his head made it unlikely he would get back to sleep. But he couldn’t continue to have Castiel discuss the idea that Sam was a bad guy. That just wasn’t possible.

 

Boston was colder than New York. Dean was glad of the heavy black coat he’d chosen to wear over his suit. Castiel, on the other hand, seemed impervious to weather, continuing to wear his scrappy trench coat. Dean didn’t even bother commenting on it anymore.

There was still police tape across the door to the Professor's office but Dean ducked underneath it as he pushed the door open. The room beyond had been ripped apart - someone was definitely looking for something. All the filing cabinets were open, paper strewn on the floor. Bookshelves had been emptied, books tumbled to the carpet. The desk looked like the locked drawers had been pried open, their contents tipped out. Dean stood in the middle of the chaos and turned around slowly.

"I don't think they found what they were looking for." He did another complete circuit before turning back to Castiel.

"What makes you say that?" Castiel made his own careful turn. He dropped to his knees to examine the titles of the books.

"The room's been taken apart. Angrily. Forcibly. Someone was frustrated. This would have been noisy too - they mustn't have been worried about someone interrupting them." Dean frowned. "It's not Winter break, right?"

Castiel straightened, transitioning back to his feet with a grace Dean found compelling. He'd forgotten how Castiel could move. "No."

Dean took a moment to remember exactly what Cas was saying no to. Then he turned again, trying to work out if anything had been taken. It was a near impossible task but there was one set of files that looked like they'd been rummaged through even more thoroughly than the rest of the room. Dean ducked his head to read their labels. Nothing he could make sense of. In fact, Dean doubted they were even in English. "Come have a look at these."

Dean stepped out of the way as Castiel stepped forward. He was muttering as Dean looked out of the windows. They were three floors up and the building looked out across a lawn with paths criss-crossing it. Now, in the middle of the day, there were people hurrying back and forth, shivering in the cold. There was no way that whoever had trashed the room had been able to come in that way.

"Inside help? That'd explain the lack of worry about being discovered." Dean turned to see Castiel watching him and nodding. "Anyone speak to the night porter? Or guard?"

Castiel casually grabbed a few of the files including one that was completely empty. "Let's go find out."

 

The local PD weren’t entirely happy to cooperate but when Castiel flashed some particularly impressive looking credentials and Dean adopted what he liked to term his military bearing, they were quickly shown into a conference room and the cop dealing with the case joined them a moment later. He was a typical cop, heavy around the middle, balding, but with sharp, penetrating eyes. Dean knew he was dying to ask what interest the Government had in the disappearance of Professor Ulrich but he was also professional enough to tamp down on his curiosity and help them just like his superior had no doubt ordered him. When he realised that Castiel really only wanted an update on the investigation, he became even more helpful.

Dean watched in amazement as Castiel charmed and complimented what he’d taken to be a hard-boiled, no-nonsense, every cop stereotype under the sun guy and made him purr like a little kitten. Intellectually, Dean knew Castiel had been doing this whole spy thing for a long time but it was still difficult for him to reconcile the blank faced, emotionally shut off man he knew with this cool operator, teasing out every bit of information. Dean had to shift under the table, easing himself into a more comfortable position. He sipped at the bitter coffee from the end of the pot, trying not to give in to the tiredness he could feel creeping up to ambush him in the warm room.

Walking out of the police station, Dean followed in Castiel’s wake unable to really focus. He could feel the exhaustion tugging at him again in direct contrast to Castiel’s cyborg like ability to keep going. But he was a soldier. He could do it. He just didn’t have to be happy about it. It was already dark – nothing too impressive there. Dean knew winter meant the sun set even earlier – and Dean hadn’t slept in a proper bed for two days at least. He didn’t even complain about Cas opening the passenger door to their hire car, merely slid into the seat and gave into the urge to yawn.

“Hotel room. I want to look at those files. And there’s nothing more we can do tonight.” Dean nodded as Castiel drove them to a downtown hotel, handing over the car to the valet and pulling Dean into the elevator.

“I keep thinking we should have safe houses or something,” Dean said around another jaw breaking yawn.

“Too expensive,” Cas muttered, watching the numbers climb in the elevator. “And the beds are never that comfortable.”

“I must be tired,” Dean found it easier to lean against Castiel than try to maintain any real semblance of dignity. He felt warm all along where their bodies touched. “Because I think you just made a joke.”

Castiel didn’t reply, instead waiting until they were as safe as they could be inside their room. He steered Dean to the far away bed, letting him go when they were in reach of the mattress. Dean face planted, finally warm again and in somewhere he could relax. He was aware of Castiel pulling off his shoes and he undid his belt and kicked off his pants. He only got a little tangled in his shirt and tie, but Castiel helped pull it free and held back the blankets as Dean slid beneath them- “Just for ten minutes, Cas.”

Dean had the sensation that Castiel was watching over him as he finally fell asleep.

 

Dean woke up all at once, disorientated. It was still dark in the room and the heavy curtains prevented him from working out whether it was late or early. He shifted on the bed to try and catch a glimpse of the clock but froze in order to not wake Castiel. He realised then what had woken him. Castiel wasn’t asleep. Instead Cas must have just slid down onto the bed next to him, jostling the bed enough to wake him.

Even though the room was dark, Dean could make out the gleam of Castiel’s eyes. He flailed a hand at Cas who slid down. He had removed his coat and was now wearing only his boxers and a t-shirt.

“The other bed is covered in files.” Castiel whispered.

“I don’t mind.” Dean knew he was rapidly slipping back into sleep, brain reassured that there was no immediate danger. “Don’t hog the covers.”

Dean felt Castiel lift the sheets and slide underneath them as he drifted off again. He should be saying something - Castiel's excuse was a little flimsy after all - but Dean decided that he couldn't really be bothered arguing. If Castiel wanted to share his bed, well, who was he to say no? His feet drifted across the demilitarized zone separating them and Dean didn’t know if it was a hostile incursion or not. All that mattered was that Cas didn’t move away from the touch.

 

Waking later was when it began to shift towards awkward. Castiel didn't move about much in his sleep, and Dean knew he didn't. But somehow he'd stretched out his arm and Castiel had claimed it, holding it tight like a teddy bear. Dean couldn't extricate himself without waking Castiel. And he didn't want to. He took in the tangle of dark hair, the cheeks flushed pink with sleep and the way Cas' t-shirt had ridden down to show the beginnings of his collar bone. Dean felt creepy watching but he hadn't had much chance to do this lately.

He raised his free hand and stroked it across Cas' cheek, gently. It was still enough to make Castiel stir and groan, grabbing more tightly onto Dean's arm. Then his eyes fluttered open and he stared at Dean. He blinked his eyes a few times before he spoke.

"I thought you were a dream." His voice was sleep-rough. He coughed and Dean understood at once that for all of Castiel's distance, he didn't want to be apart from Dean, didn't want to hold him at arm's length. Dean rolled onto his side so he was face to face with Castiel.

"Or a nightmare?" The words were better than some of the sappier declarations that Cas had yet to come up with. Castiel frowned and shook his head, adorably not awake yet.

"Never." It came out a little more fervently than Cas probably intended but Dean didn't mind that much. He rolled closer, letting his hand drift over Castiel's shoulder, pulling him closer. Castiel seemed happy to roll into the embrace. He lay still, rubbing his nose against Dean's shoulder - nuzzling, Dean wanted to call it. Dean was trying to work out what exactly to say next when his cell started ringing.

He clambered out of bed and stumbled across the room, answering it before it went to voicemail. It was Zachariah.

"We have examined the files from Whitlock. Apparently he had Professor Ulrich doing some sort of side research at a home that belongs to another one of Lucifer's associates." Zachariah rattled off the address which Dean scribbled down on the handy notepad provided by the hotel. Dean listened to Zachariah warning him of the importance of finding out what Professor Ulrich was looking for and looked around the room for a clock. It was only 7am, way too early to be knocking on doors and pretending to be perfectly innocent investigators. Maybe he could get away with, "We have come to look at the tapestries." Castiel shoved the covers back on got out of the bed, stretched and opened the thin curtains that barely blocked the weak daylight.

Zachariah finished the call and Dean threw his phone down on the chair. He was feeling much more awake but still had the urge to crawl back into bed and entice Castiel in after him. Not for more sleep. Or even, really, for more cuddling. Dean had a sex drive, after all, and he knew Castiel had one too, buried as it was by the urge to be Mr. Perfect Agent Man. And their brief moment of contact had definitely stirred up urges Dean knew ran just under the surface for him. In the end, he settled for crawling back into the bed and switching on the TV. He could just catch up with the news.

Castiel waved a mug of coffee under his nose and Dean took it gratefully while relaying Zachariah’s orders. Castiel nodded along as he fixed his own mug and handed it to Dean as he slid back into bed. It was ridiculously domestic, both of them close under the covers, ankles occasionally knocking as Dean drank his coffee and tried to ignore the warmth of Castiel all along his side.

 

The house looked deserted as Dean and Cas pulled up. There were no lights on and no signs of life from outside. Dean still knocked at the door, rapping sharply with his knuckles. He tried the door and was surprised it opened under his hand. Castiel shrugged when Dean gestured, suddenly wanting to be quiet. Dean snuck his gun out of its holster and pushed the door open, listening carefully. When no one reacted to his actions, he stepped inside, closely followed by Castiel.

The house was a pretty traditional family home from the outside – two stories, yard, nice big bay window. It looked like the type of house Sam would move into after he married Ruby and they were ready to start a family. Dean pushed his depression at the thought out of the way and quickly checked all the rooms on the ground floor. Castiel trailed in his wake, eyes darting around, seeking clues as much as Dean sought potential hostiles.

The house proved empty – it was as if the inhabitants had just stepped out into the yard or to speak to the neighbours. Nothing screamed that the house was full of nefarious plotters.

“They have safe houses,” Dean pointed out as Castiel and he returned to the entranceway. “And the beds look plenty comfortable.”

“Yes, Dean.” The eyeroll was more implied than actual as Castiel spun around in a slow circle, obviously looking for something. He walked into the dining room, table bare and polished before strolling back into the living room. Dean reholstered his weapon and watched him.

“The rooms aren’t the same size, Cas.” Dean said as Castiel walked past him again. “There’s a hidden room.” Dean tried not to sound smug at noticing it.

“I’m trying to find the entrance.” Castiel’s voice was absently chiding and Dean frowned before wandering into the dining room.

“Don’t we tap on walls or something.” Dean raised his fist. Castiel stopped and looked at him, then pointed at a place where the wallpaper didn’t quite match. Dean nodded and kicked.

Castiel spun him and pinned Dean to the wall opposite, so quickly Dean didn’t know what was happening. “What are you doing?”

“Opening the door.” It was obvious, wasn’t it? Castiel leaned against him, shuddering slightly. Dean thought through the actions and realised exactly what he’d done. “It could have been booby trapped.”

Castiel glared at him from a very short distance and Dean wilted slightly. He could almost feel Castiel’s heart pounding in fear. Then Castiel closed the distance between them and kissed him. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, not the fragile romantic kind. Instead it was hard and possessive and screamed fear and relief and love more than any conversation could have. Dean took a moment to realise what was happening before he responded in kind, pressing against Castiel, letting him know that Dean was full of the same intense emotions.

They were both breathing heavily when they pulled back. “Not now. Not here,” Castiel gasped out.

“Job first.” Dean agreed, before he pushed himself up off the wall and grabbed his weapon again. He reckoned it was unlikely that anyone was behind the door but he was probably better showing Castiel that he knew how to be cautious, even after the fact.

The open door led to a set of stairs heading down to the basement. The size differential in the rooms was caused the need for the stairwell, Dean guessed. It was dark but there was a light switch in the wall at the top of the stairs. Castiel reached past him and flicked it.

It was still a set of stairs. There were no raised voices, no noises from below, so Dean made his way down, weapon leading the way. Castiel followed closely behind but not so close as to fox his aim.

The basement was a wide open space with tables arranged like some kind of war room. Computers were banked along one wall and the other three were covered with maps and diagrams. Dean did a full 360 in order to ensure there were no hiding places while Castiel dug in his pocket for his cell.

“I’m going to call this in,” he told Dean. Dean nodded and started looking at the maps. Some were of recognisable places – one of Iraq he knew from military operations - while some were lines and circles with symbols he didn’t recognise. There were photographs pinned between the maps – some of strange artefacts, archaeological finds, some of places and some of people. Dean spent the longest checking those out. There was a section where there was a few he recognised – one of Doctor Ulrich. And one of his brother and Ruby.

Dean tamped down on the panic he felt to keep looking. He didn’t really know what he was looking for. He didn’t understand most of the notations and the writing didn’t even seem to be in English. But he was sure something had to make sense.

Castiel finished his phone call and came to stand at Dean’s shoulder. “They’re going to send a team.”

“That’s probably best.” Dean was still looking around. Something was nagging at him. He turned around again and the subconscious processing of information suddenly clicked into place. “There.”

Dean was pointing at a photo of what looked to be a painting or a wall carving or something. It was old looking and similar to some of the things he’d seen in the museums he’d been dragged to by Sam. It showed a figure sitting on a big chair – a throne – with scary looking women around him. Maybe they weren’t women. They seemed to have snake tails instead of legs. Dean walked closer, trying to work out what had drawn his attention. It took a couple of moments before he realised.

“He’s wearing my amulet.” Dean’s hand found its way to his chest where the small bump of the amulet lay between his shirt and his skin.

Castiel came and stood next to Dean, peering closely at the picture. “Yes. He is.” Dean couldn’t work out from the flat tone whether Castiel was feeling anything other than dry academic interest. Dean pulled back. Sam's picture. His amulet. It had to be connected to what Lucifer wanted. But there was no evidence of bomb making and building schematics. Not like Dean had come to expect from insane but organised and highly funded terrorist groups. He was more and more convinced that Lucifer was no ordinary terrorist, out to cause fear and sow discord in pursuit of whatever ridiculous and pointless goal he had. This was different. This was ancient languages and archaeological digs. Dean stifled a laugh. This was fucking Indiana Jones, Da Vinci Code mumbo jumbo nonsense.

Castiel came to stand beside him. He paused for a moment before reaching out to lay a hand on Dean's shoulder. "It may sound ridiculous..."

"It's ridiculous, Cas. There's no may about it. This is stupid." Dean looked at the room again. The maps he couldn't identify were dig sites. He could see that now.

"Lucifer is still dangerous, Dean. More dangerous, perhaps, since his goals are so out of reach." Castiel wandered over to one of the tables. "I can't quite translate this fully, but it seems to suggest that the amulet is the key to protection."

Dean shook his head. "It was a gift from Sam. He gave me it as a joke when I shipped out for my second tour. He'd found it in a junk shop near the University..." Dean trailed off. It had seemed like a strange gift at the time. He'd chalked it up to Sam confusing his enjoyment of quality rock music with an interest in the supernatural. It was kinda cool though and he wore it because his brother had got it for him.

"You didn't receive another injury after that. Not a serious one." Castiel's voice sounded wondering. "You were promoted. None of your men-"

"No." Dean cut him off. It was ridiculous. "It doesn't matter whether it works or not. Lucifer wants it. He took Ulrich because he had something to do with finding it. And so did Sam." Dean's brain ticked over a few more times. "We need to warn Sam."

Castiel's face was grave when he nodded. "We need to protect him."

Dean followed Castiel around as he took photographs of the basement. It would take a couple of hours for the team to arrive and Cas could send them the pictures to start their analysis. Zachariah had given them clear orders. Secure the site. He'd also ordered Dean not to contact his brother.

His words rankled with Dean. "We don't know if Sam is involved. We don't want to tip off anyone watching Sam." Dean was tempted to leap down the phone line and punch Zachariah in the throat before hopping on a plane to Kansas and making sure Sam was okay. His training held true despite the urge to smash the tables to the ground and rip all the images off the wall. They were no closer to tracking down Lucifer and now Dean knew his brother was in some kind of danger he was certainly worried about that.

"That's why they tell us to break all ties," Castiel said, out of nowhere.

"What?"

Cas didn't answer him. Instead he gestured to Dean to climb up the steps back into the main body of the house. Dean thought about protesting but realised he should really be watching the approaches to the house to prevent any unwelcome surprises. The front room looked like the most likely option for that. Dean settled on the sofa with a clear view of the yard and the road outside.

Castiel surprised him by scanning the room with a bug detector - another one of Gabriel's toys. He unscrewed a lamp and squashed the tiny black device between his foot and the lacquered floor. He didn't settle until the adjoining rooms were checked too.

"You know my name wasn't always Castiel but I've had it so long that it has become who I am, Dean." Castiel settled on the chair opposite, careful to avoid blocking Dean's view or being seen from outside. "I had a family, parents, brothers and friends. I wasn't born wanting to be an agent."

"A spy," Dean corrected him.

Castiel shook his head. "An operative. Spy is too active for me. It sounds like James Bond and shaken not stirred martinis. I'm much more boring than that." Castiel wasn't looking at Dean. Instead he was watching the alternate approach to the house. "I was recruited in college. I think the languages I'd chosen to study set off some red flag somewhere. It sounded like a good idea at the time. I was... estranged from my family. They were religious. Obsessively so."

"They didn't like that you were gay." Dean could understand that. He'd been lucky with Sam but he hadn't told his dad before he died. Never had anyone worth telling his dad about. Not then.

"Not at all. I was all but cut off from them. The idea of pretending to have been killed in a robbery came from the Agency but it still seemed kinder than just disappearing." Castiel rubbed his hand across his face. "The Angel name felt like a remembrance of them, perhaps."

Dean looked at Castiel closely. He was wearing his shuttered,’ I have no emotions’ expression but his eyes were full of sad memories. He did some quick math - if Cas had finished college first, he still would only have been twenty two or so when he stopped talking to his family. "You were young."

"You were younger when you joined up," Cas pointed out. "I wasn't risking life and limb, not at first. I was just a translator, an analyst."

"But I had Sam, and my dad then. I had something to come home to." Dean shook his head. "What did you have?"

"My colleagues became friends. It was safer. Neater." Castiel finally looked directly at Dean. "I was sure it was enough for so long."

Dean had to look away from the intensity in Castiel's eyes. His chest hurt from the look alone. He returned to watching the road, running over Castiel's words. "Everybody-" Dean had to cough. His voice didn't sound like it belonged to him anymore. "Everybody needs to fight for something, Cas."

"What do you fight for Dean?" The words were so hesitant, came after such a period of silence that Dean was tempted to ignore them. But he owed Castiel better than that.

"Sam, of course." Dean watched as Castiel drooped almost. He'd become accustomed to reading the tiniest shifts in Castiel's body language. "And you, I guess."

Castiel's eyes were blazing when he looked back at Dean. There was fear there, sure, and worry but there was also hope and something Dean wanted to call love. He cursed himself for being so sappy but reckoned his declaration was pretty damn romantic so he probably deserved it.

They didn't speak as they waited, focused on their own thoughts and watching the road outside. They'd probably said enough for now. Everything else would need to wait.

 

HQ was just as busy as they’d left, people running around, tapping frantically at computers, every conference room in use. Dean had hoped that he and Cas might be granted a reprieve, might be able to head back to his, get a drink together, order a pizza and see where things were going. Dean also knew he wasn’t that lucky.

Zachariah’s office door was open and they could hear him screaming orders down his phone as they hovered outside. The slam of the phone had them looking at each other and wondering if they should report in. Zachariah’s caustic, “I can see you, you know,” put an end to their hesitation.

“We have a lead. We have a protective detail on Sam Winchester. We think Lucifer has taken Ulrich to Detroit, to a man called Keller who seems to have funded the original dig that Sam and Professor Ulrich were part of at Stanford. We don’t know if he is still alive, now, of course. But we have a lead.” Zachariah fell back into his chair. His eyes were wide and fanatical. “We have him, nearly, nearly.”

Dean nodded, about to ask for his next set of orders. He wanted in on the chase, sure, but there had to be a reason why they’d been brought back to HQ rather than caught a flight westwards. He had opened his mouth when all the air seemed sucked out of the room. Dean knew this sensation. He’d felt it often enough at roadsides and once at a check point. He was in motion before his mind had caught up, pushing Castiel to the floor between two filing cabinets and covering him with his body. The blast reverberated through him, sound making him shake as much as the explosion. A bomb. Dean shielded his neck from the debris. Not just one. There were other more distant explosions. A whole chain of bombs, a sequence.

Dean’s ears had that echoing ringing that often followed a loud explosion. He had to take a moment to shake it out, to remind himself this wasn’t Iraq, wasn’t Afghanistan. It didn’t matter. He and his unit had still been the target of an attack. Dean took a deep breath. He needed to stay calm, assess the situation and get as many people out as he could.

His first priority was still Castiel. He looked down at the figure beneath him and was gratified to see a quick fleeting grin. Dean leaned forward, mouth hard and dry, but soft enough to kiss Cas, pour all his worry and relief and love through the too brief press of their lips to let Cas know that Dean cared. Cas’ hands clutched at his back, pulling him close. “Thank you, Dean,” Cas gasped, when Dean finally let up.

He rested his forehead on Castiel’s for a moment, drawing strength and resolve before working his way to his feet. He had no injuries beyond the odd bruise and cut. Castiel looked like he was even less unmarked and Dean reached out to get him to his feet. Obviously Zachariah’s office had some kind of reinforcement because other than the cracks in the ceiling and the disorder of the furniture, the structure of the room was stable.

“We’re going to use this as a safe room unless I can get people outside.” Taking charge felt as natural as it had back in his old life. “Get the chairs upright, push the rest of the furniture back.” Zachariah had been pushed across the room and looked to have hit his head on the wall. He was stirring though and Dean couldn’t see anything else wrong with him. “Can you look after him?”

Castiel made a face that was probably close to the ‘do I have to’ expression Sam wore whenever Dean dragged him out for brother bonding time. But he nodded and moved over to Zachariah, calling his name. 

Outside the sanctuary of the office, chaos reigned. The ceiling had collapsed in places and cables spun crazily, many of them showering sparks. Small fires guttered threateningly throughout the place and there was a mix of groaning figures and still bodies everywhere. The sprinkler system hadn’t been entirely destroyed and fitful spurts of water made everything slippery and even more dangerous. Smoke threatened to choke Dean as he took full account of the situation. A hole had been ripped in the wall of the building and it looked like his best option for an exit rather than the rubble covered elevators. The sound of sirens already approaching made Dean feel better too. He wasn’t alone in an enemy landscape. He had back up. He had the fire department and ambulances. He just needed to get people out.

 

It was late that night when Dean was stopped with a firm hand on his shoulder. He had worked alongside any able body to dig into the rubble, unearth people. He wasn’t bothered about Zachariah’s cry of “but the equipment.” Equipment could be replaced. Dean knew that well enough. He’d pulled as many still bodies out as he had moving ones and slowly, too slowly, the space had stopped echoing with cries and screams. The fires had been put out, the electricity and the water switched off until he was nearly alone, sifting through rubble in the bright lights the fire department had set up to make sure everyone was accounted for.

Castiel had stopped him. “That’s enough, Dean. You need to rest.”

Dean struggled, trying to free himself. He knew he was tired but he had enough to keep going. He needed to keep going. “There might-“

“You’ve done enough.” There was no arguing with Castiel, not when he steered Dean towards the temporary headquarters Zachariah had commandeered. Gabriel seemed to be working on a laptop, as focused as ever despite the soot trails on his skin. Anna was nursing a broken arm on the other side of the table but raised her other hand when Dean sat down beside her. 

“What’s the tally?” Dean knew there wasn’t much use in putting it off. It was better to get the information so he could begin to deal with it.

“Three killed. Balthazar… Four in critical. Lots of sprains and breaks. And one unaccounted for.” Gabriel reeled off the numbers without even a hitch in his typing. Dean lowered his head and let Castiel rub at the back of his neck. “Looks like a series of linked explosions.”

“Inside job?” Dean knew that he was probably pushing a little too hard but security was good around HQ. Great even.

“Looks like it,” Zachariah peeled himself away from his phone. “Uriel is missing.”

“Maybe he’s still in the rubble.” Castiel was pale under the dirt and ash covering most of his face.

Zachariah shook his head. “He was seen boarding at Dulles around ninety minutes ago. There was an unconfirmed report that he’d triggered the explosions too. It looks like we’ll have to accept that he’s been working for Lucifer the entire time.”

Dean looked around the others as they shook their heads, tried to deny the betrayal and then settled into a new resolve. “What does this mean?”

“It means that everything we know, Lucifer knows. And it means no one is safe.” Castiel managed to keep his voice steady as he spoke. Dean could still make out his slight tremble through the hand Cas hadn’t removed from his back. “We need to get to Sam, now. Lucifer will be coming for him.”

Zachariah’s phone rang and he stepped away to speak as Dean’s mind whirled. He should call Sam. But his cell was buried under the rubble a few hundred feet away. He should fly back to Kansas. He should… Zachariah was back.

“Ulrich’s body has been found. And so have the bodies of the agents we sent to look after your brother. Lucifer is a step ahead of us. Again. He’s got your brother, Dean.” Zachariah paused and ran a hand over his sparse hair. 

“What are we going to do?” Gabriel asked, while Dean got to his feet. He needed to be doing something. Hitting someone. Hot rage ran through him and he had to clench his fists, dig his fingernails into his palms in order to calm down.

Zachariah shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know.”

Castiel slammed his hand down. “We go get him. That’s what we do.” Zachariah and Castiel glared at each other over the makeshift desk before Zachariah broke eye contact. 

“You’re right.” He sounded oddly beaten. “Let’s move this to the downtown facility, Gabriel. There’s nothing more we can do here.” He stood up and looked around at the emergency vehicles, the ambulance crews still treating agents and analysts alike.

“I think we should head straight to Detroit.” Gabriel was already gathering equipment, brushing the odd bit of charred paper off some of it but he paused to tap at the keys on his laptop once more.

Zachariah’s mouth gaped like a goldfish for a couple of moments. “Why?”

“Because that’s where Uriel is headed.” Gabriel spun around his screen to show a snapshot from a security camera at an airport gate. Uriel’s bulk dwarfed the air hostess who was smiling falsely while handing him back his boarding pass.

Dean felt better at that. Anything to take him nearer to Sam and to Lucifer. He was aware he was flexing his hands, loosening them for combat. “Sounds good to me.”

 

It was three hours later before they were on the plane and in the air. Dean ended up passing by his apartment to shower and shave and take one load of clothes out of his travel bag and dump them in the laundry only to replace them with his last set from his closet. He added laundry to the long list of things that could be ignored while he finished this once and for all.

Dean couldn’t sit around for the lack of news. He ended up pacing up and down the galley. Of course that was where Cas found him. “Sam’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that.” Dean stopped his pacing and turned to confront Castiel. “You can’t. This guy has left a trail of bodies. He doesn’t- He doesn’t care. He chews up people and spits them out. There’s a good chance that Sam’s already…” Dean didn’t know how to finish his thoughts let alone his sentence.

Castiel had no answer to that. He stirred his coffee for longer than really necessary. He stepped forward but Dean waved him off and returned to the main body of the plane. They’d be landing soon. Dean needed to find out if there was any new information. And he needed to check his weapon. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

 

The airport was busy but they swept through it, badges waving aside any officialdom. Dean tried Sam’s cell again – he might get lucky but there was still no answer. Gabriel handed him a file as they were pushed into a line of waiting black SUVs. Dean flicked through it, photos of Sam’s house spilling into his lap. It was obvious that a fight had taken place – the tidy kitchen had been wrecked comprehensively. There was no sign of either Sam or Ruby. Dean supposed that gave credence to the hope that Sam wasn’t dead. It also helped reassure him that Sam hadn’t gone willingly, that he wasn’t part of whatever Lucifer was doing. Dean might have sworn blind to Zachariah that Sam never ever would, but there had been that hard knot of doubt twisting his guts tight.

The SUV cavalcade swept up outside a hotel and Dean clambered out. His stomach was tight as he looked up at the building. He didn’t want to be sitting in a hotel room. He wanted to be out hunting down Lucifer. He wanted to be getting his brother back. He knew he couldn’t sit still.

Cas came to stand next to him. “Hungry?”

“Not really,” Dean admitted. That was weird. He could normally eat whatever and whenever. But he guessed it had something to do with Sam being in the line of fire.

“Huh. How about I go grab some take out and you help Zachariah track down your brother and you eat so you don’t faint later.” Castiel’s voice had an acerbic quality but it didn’t completely disguise the worried affection. Dean leaned forward and knocked his forehead against Castiel’s, not caring who saw. Things like that didn’t matter anymore.

“Can’t argue with a direct order.” He waved to Cas and headed into the hotel lobby, just another black suit in a line of black suits.

 

His stomach actually grumbled before Dean remembered what Castiel had told him to do. He’d been so busy helping set up the field room and looking through acres of surveillance footage to identify when Sam had been taken and maybe get a bead on who. “Hey, where’s Castiel?”

“What?” Gabriel looked up from a tangle of wires with a screwdriver in his mouth.

“Cas. He said he was grabbing food. About-“ Dean checked his watch and ice cold water flowed through his veins. “About three hours ago.”

Gabriel met Dean’s eyes. Then he spat out the screwdriver and went into action. Questions to the others scattered throughout the suites they’d taken over clarified that Castiel hadn’t returned. He hadn’t been seen. He hadn’t checked in. Immediately a trace was put on his cell only to lead the chase team to a dumpster in an alley behind a Thai restaurant. Dean was on the phone trying to get street camera footage from the city when Anna shouted for everyone to stop.

“I’ve found him. I’ve found them all.”

 

There was a certain clarity now. Dean didn't need to think about field work or tradecraft or anything else. This called for the type of fighting he was used to. Kick the door in, keep your head down and shoot anything that moves. Dean checked his pistol one more time. Then he turned to Zachariah. "Give me your gun."

"What?" Zachariah's hand stopped halfway to his holster.

"I'm going in. You're not. There's a dozen agents out here. I want a back up piece." Dean held out his hand, close to snapping his fingers. Instead Zachariah laid his own weapon in Dean's outstretched hand and gestured him forward. He was the vanguard – the only one. They’d lost so many people in the bombing, through Lucifer’s machinations, that they couldn’t risk anyone else. Dean would report on the situation and then they’d come up with a plan. Dean settled his shoulders under his vest - not that it'd really help that much - and walked into the building, arms weighed down by the guns in both hands. Into the Valley of Death...

There had been a list, a list he’d come to learn, displayed at his old unit HQ. It was a list of all the major battles they’d fought in. It read like a list of all the conflicts the US had ever been involved in. Dean had liked the fact that he was part of that list, part of the continuity, stepping in for the greater good. This battle, right here, wouldn’t end up on any list, on any wall. This was still for the greater good. This was Juno Beach, for him. This was Iwo Jima. This was Cambrai. 

This was going to be added to his list and he was going to live through it and make sure Cas and Sam did too. Fuck the plan. This was him and his weapons and he had a mission to complete.

 

It was dark inside. The emergency lighting was low and sporadic, casting everything in odd flashes of green or red. The odd shower of sparks suggested that there had been some resistance to HELL's takeover of the office. Desks lay tipped over and paper floated through the air in a mockery of birds. Dean kept his ears open, trusting that he'd hear the bad guys well before they heard him. Equally, chances were that they were either holed up deep in the interior, or, more likely, a few floors up. High ground was more defensible after all. 

Dean cleared the bottom floor, ignoring the soft hiss of static in his earpiece. A crackle alerted him to the fact something had switched in comms. Gabriel's voice came through a moment later. "EM pulse. Killed all our electronics."

Dean didn't bother responding. He'd guessed it was something like that. Luckily he wasn't gadget dependent. All it took was him, a weapon and his righteous anger. They had Sam and they had Castiel and they were all Dean had and that made Dean see red.

The ground floor was clear. Dean made his way to the rear of the building and pushed open the fire escape door as quietly as he could. The soft scraping on the concrete echoed up the stairwell but no shouts - and no shots - accompanied the noise so Dean slipped through the gap. They were probably focused on the main stairs, the elevators. If anyone was watching this entrance, they were probably divided in their focus. Dean, on the other hand, was nothing but focus, breathing evenly and slowly as he made his way up as quickly as he dared. His earpiece crackled again confirming his guess. "They're on the top floor, Dean."

Of course they were. He clicked his tongue, hoping Gabriel understood the need for silence and started his climb. The grey concrete was pure function and the cobwebs and dust suggested no one came here all that often. That might work in Dean's favour. The terrorists might not even know that this entrance was here. Dean didn't push his luck, moving slowly, steadily and keeping his right arm up, ready to fire.

The top floor was noisy as he came up to the door. There was someone shouting on the other side of the solid metal loud enough for Dean to make out the sound but not the words. He ducked down and tucked Zachariah's weapon in his waistband. Then he reached up and opened the door, rolling through and into a firing position as smoothly as he could.

No reaction.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief while he looked around for potential hiding places. A figure with an automatic rifle slung across their chest made its way past the end of the hallway where Dean was crouched and he flattened himself against the wall. The figure didn't turn, heading towards the shouting. The darkness was comforting now, providing safety and a place to hide. Dean took the chance to run forward, feet cushioned by the carpet. This must be the executive level judging by the depth of the pile.

The lights were still off but the sudden wave of light from a helicopter floating outside gave Dean enough light to see that the guard who had walked past him was a slender woman with long dark curls. She was distracted by whatever was going on in the room at the far end of the hallway but not close enough to be spotted by whoever was in there. Dean crept forward and used his arm to block her airway, hand firm over her mouth to prevent any outcry. She writhed and twisted but was no match for Dean's steel resolve. He dragged her body back around his corner, stripping off the rifle and slinging it around his neck. The familiar weight made him feel like he was regressing back to the simpler and purer life of Lieutenant Winchester again and there was something that made him settle further there. He knew what he was doing now.

After searching the guard for any other weapons and restraining her hands behind her back, leaving her face down with her head to the side to prevent choking Dean pushed away from the wall and made his way along the hallway. There were no other guards around this side of the floor and he guessed he'd been right about the others focusing on the main entrance. They might even be expecting a SWAT team to swing in from the helicopter which floated around the opposite side of the building now. Dean was glad of the distraction as he reached the half open door.

It was a heavy wooden door but Dean pressed himself against the wall beside it and could just see into the room that must have been a really impressive office at one point. He could see a foot clad in a practical boot attached to the leg of a pair of overlong jeans. Sam, then. And kicking back and forth. So Sam was alive. One of the worries at the back of Dean's mind faded.

A man crossed the room, rather too close to the door for Dean's entire comfort. "Just tell me where it is." His voice was calm now, eerily persuasive, but Dean was in no doubt that this was the voice he'd heard shouting down the hallway. "Ulrich must have stashed it here."

The next familiar voice made Dean almost smile. "You are wrong." Castiel was clipped and precise, making Dean aware of how very angry Cas was. He'd heard that tone a time or two himself. He was debating whether to push the door wide or listen to some more when he felt a gun barrel pressed to the back of his neck. Without needing any instruction or threat, Dean lifted his hands above his head and stood up slowly, no sudden movements. He felt the attention of his captor shift, infinitesimally, and he reacted without even thinking.

Dean spun around, hand already coming down to disarm and threaten his assailant with his own gun. He found himself looking into Ruby’s wide shocked eyes.

“Knew it.” Time seemed to slow as Dean depressed the trigger. Sam would be angry at him. Dean would regret not finding out the whole truth. But he was beyond rational thought and into the cold dead zone of training and the need to protect and serve above all else. A red hole appeared in Ruby’s forehead and she tumbled to the ground. The noise would have alerted every one of Lucifer’s troops to the presence of a threat and Dean decided that he’d done more than enough pussy footing around.

The door splintered as it hit the wall, hanging off its hinges from the force of his kick. Dean’s instincts took over, endless rounds on the target range paired with all the time he’d spent in the field. This wasn’t some action flick. He calmly looked, aimed and fired within the blink of an eye. He was surrounded by the smoke from discharging his gun in such a confined space and he was sure he looked like some kind of demon. The room was as softly carpeted as the rest of the floor and it cushioned the sound of the falling bodies.

Wide windows looked out over the mass of police cars and black SUVs and the SWAT truck outside. The helicopter hovered over the opposite building. And Dean was finally face to face with the nemesis who’d caused so much trouble. Lucifer – Nick – was oddly unimpressive. No taller than Dean, no more crazy looking or dangerous. He wasn’t even wearing a suit, dressed instead in a ragged plaid shirt, washed out grey t-shirt and a pair of well-worn jeans. Although the stubble might have been part of the whole devilish persona, he was blonde, blue eyed and he was smiling.

He also had a gun placed solidly against Castiel’s temple. “Hello, Dean. We’ve been expecting you.”

Castiel was tied to a chair, pretty effectively from what Dean could see, and he had a strip of silver duct tape across his mouth. Sam was also tied up but on the ground, legs stretched out in front of him. His mouth wasn’t sealed but he had his lips pursed close. A sluggishly bleeding cut on his cheek looked vivid and painful but he obviously hadn’t broken under their blandishments. Dean looked to each of them, glad of the warm welcome in their eyes before returning his full attention to Lucifer.

“And you’ll be Nick.” Dean’s aim hadn’t wavered yet, his gun steady on Lucifer, but he could feel his arm tire. He’d need to move to a two handed stance soon and that would mean he wouldn’t be prepared for someone coming through the door at his back. He needed to move. If he could get Lucifer closer to the window, perhaps the snipers who were no doubt set up across the street might get a bead on him. He needed to get him into the open.

“Lucifer. It’s much more striking. Star of the Morning and all.” Lucifer actually preened.

“Yeah. It takes a special kind of idiot to call himself Satan and all.” Dean was calculating, looking around. He needed to do something. Every moment Lucifer had him here meant that his back up might arrive sooner rather than later. Dean tried to shift left but Lucifer pressed the gun tighter to Castiel’s head, making him wince.

“Uh uh. No moving, Dean.” Lucifer didn’t lessen his hold. “Wouldn’t want me to take off poor little Castiel’s head. For a language analyst, he certainly seems to be heavily involved in places he shouldn’t be. He’ll tell you what Satan means.”

“Adversary,” Sam choked out, drawing their attention. “It means adversary.”

“And that’s what I am. Not evil. There’s no such thing as evil. I’m just a little more chaotic than these hidebound, letter of the law types.” Lucifer actually laughed. Dean reassessed his earlier impression. This guy was crazier than a bucket of worms. But he had a gun pressed against Cas’ head and Dean wasn’t going to give him any reason to shoot.

“Alright then. So what are you against?” Dean had to get him to move.

“I’m for _freedom_ , of course.” The words were almost mocking. “Isn’t that what all domestic terrorists are for.” Lucifer knew Dean’s play. He could predict everything. He’d had the same training after all. Well, almost. He wouldn’t be expecting…

“Well, I hear you might be interested in this.” Dean used his free hand to fish his amulet out from under his bulletproof vest and t-shirt. It had dug in when he’d strapped himself in, but the pain was worth the familiar comforting weight. Dean was now gambling, hoping he would have more luck than in his usual poker games. Lucifer would be used to everyone throwing themselves in front of his gun to stop him getting what they wanted. He wouldn’t understand Dean’s willingness to give him the amulet. He wouldn’t get that Dean didn’t really care about the piece of metal, not when his brother and his… Castiel’s life was at stake. He’d take this crap shoot.

Sure enough, Lucifer’s hand lifted in surprise, the gun pointing away from Cas for a fraction of a second. Dean took his chance and shot him, emptying the clip into the scruffy grey t-shirt. He kept shooting past the end of the bullets just to make sure. Lucifer was down, eyes staring glassily at the ceiling. Dean hit the comms, yelling the news to the waiting agents. He ignored their response as he turned to Cas and Sam.

Sam was fine, pulling at his ropes already. Cas- In all the chaos and the shots and those final few moments of Lucifer’s frenzy, it looked like Lucifer had already managed to fire a bullet. Cas was still breathing, shallowly, and his eyes were open and staring at Dean, filled with pain but no accusation. Blood seemed to pour over his shirt, pumping out with ever ragged breath. Dean pressed his hand to the wound, ignoring the yells of Sam, ignoring the others coming into the room, weapons raised. All he could feel was Castiel’s skin under his hands, the warm slippery blood everywhere, and Castiel’s lips trying to form words Dean had been desperate to hear. “I know Cas. Me too. Me too. Just be okay. Be okay, Cas. Don’t- don’t die.”

Dean fought as he was pulled away, faceless soldiers in full riot gear holding him tight as the medics got to work, transporting Cas down to the first floor and into the ambulance as quickly as they could. Dean followed, unable to leave him, Sam on his heels. But as the ambulance pulled away, Dean collapsed, legs no longer holding him up. He was oblivious to the shouting, the screaming siren, even to Sam’s arms wrapping around him, as the ambulance and the man who meant just about everything important in his life pulled away. 

 

Dean had been shuffled into a black SUV, Gabriel grinning at him from the front seat. They had to be away before the media showed up. There was only so much exposure the agency could take before it became a folly to run as a secret organisation. They ended up in another anonymous hotel, suites of rooms taken over for their operation. Dean went through the motions of showering, debriefing, reassuring everyone he was fine. It was as if he was two people, split into the calm robot acting the way a perfect soldier turned agent should, together, able to report on the number of people he’d killed without blinking on his foray into the office block and the screaming lunatic begging to be taken to Castiel, begging for them to stop and shut up and to just let him know Cas was going to be alright.

Sam knew something was wrong. He’d been allowed in to see Dean, white stitches in his cheek, moving slowly and carefully. Dean had found out that Sam had been beaten but nothing was broken. That was obviously going to be Lucifer’s next level of torture.

Dean watched him settle onto the couch in the hotel room he’d been shown into and continued cleaning the guns he’d acquired. It kept him occupied enough and gave him something to do with his hands. Gave him something other than beating at the doors and demanding and begging and pleading for them to give him news about Castiel. “Sam.” He kept his greeting short in case the other words spilled out too.

“It was Ruby. She was spying on me. The whole time.” Sam sunk into the couch. His eyes were glassy which either meant tears or, more likely, that he’d been doped up good. “It’s been going on longer than we understood.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have. But she was-“ Sam sunk into silence and his worry for his brother drove a crack through Dean’s façade. He put the gun down and moved to sit on the coffee table opposite Sam.

“It’s not your fault.” Dean could see his mouth twist like it always did when Sam didn’t believe him. “Anyway, it’s over now.”

“She’s dead. They told me she was dead.” Sam tried to brush his hair off his face with his bandaged hand but missed. “It feels…”

“She was a big part of your life. You were going to be married.” Dean rubbed at his chest, ignoring the pain he felt there. He didn’t know whether he should tell Sam that he was the one who killed Ruby. It might make Sam feel better.

“It feels kinda good, Dean, that’s she’s dead. She told me that it was all a trick, that I meant nothing to her.” Sam’s voice was wondering, bitter, and he let his head roll back on the couch. The drugs were definitely kicking in. Dean should probably have insisted Sam had taken the bed. “She was nothing like Jess. That’s what-“ Sam looked away, uncomfortable. “When Jess died, in that stupid fire, I had a fucking epiphany. If I’d been there, Dean, I might have…”

“You couldn’t have saved her. Nothing could have. The fire was too fast, too intense.” Dean had been abroad, in Iraq, when he’d found about Jess, days too late to do anything.

“If I hadn’t been chasing stupid ideas. And I gave you that amulet because I wanted rid of it. Ulrich had told me to keep it safe and every time I looked at it, I saw Jess.” His voice was bitter. “And I thought I could replace her with Ruby.” Sam’s voice was raw and broken and Dean watched as Sam got himself under control. The drugs were starting to kick in now and Sam yawned while his eyes started to shut.

“I know, buddy.” Dean kept his voice soft as he guided Sam down onto the couch, pulling the comforter off the bed and covering him with it. He couldn’t go back to his gun cleaning now – it might wake Sam – and Dean decided it was time to face up to the rest of his worries. What was the worst they could do? Fire him. Perhaps that would be no bad thing.

Dean slipped out of the room and back to the central suite. Zachariah was nodding over a computer that Gabriel was expertly tapping at. Dean hesitated in the doorway, rubbing his suddenly sweaty hands on the new jeans he was wearing. They’d made him change out of the blood soaked suit he’d been in. Dean felt strangely more himself like this, less like he was wearing a costume. The others looked up expectantly when he coughed.

“So. I was- How’s Cas?” Dean wasn’t even ashamed of the way the words seemed strangled by his suddenly dry throat on the way out.

“In surgery.” Zachariah’s eyes seemed to see through all of Dean’s attempt at just being a concerned colleague. “We won’t know anything for another few hours.”

“I want-“ Dean shook his head, hand curling around the doorframe until his knuckles were white. He couldn’t ask for this. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

“You’ll be back to DC tomorrow. Try and sleep.” Gabriel shot a sympathetic look his way as Zachariah dismissed him. It wasn’t care that made him advise Dean to sleep. It was the need to have Dean back in the field as soon as possible. They might have taken out Lucifer but there were sure to be people to mop up. Dean would be expected to participate.

 

Despite whatever Zachariah might have implied, Dean had no trouble in sneaking out of the hotel and heading across town to the hospital in the middle of the night. He had even less trouble sneaking onto the restricted surgery floor where Cas was in recovery. The guard at the doorway might have proved an obstacle had it not been for Dean's willingness to bribe nurses into acting as diversion as he slid past in a pair of borrowed scrubs.

Castiel was pale against the white sheets, dark hair shocking. It was a complete mess, standing on end. Cas' dark eyelashes made the circles under his eyes even more apparent and he was surrounded by machines that beeped and flashed and generally made Dean worry more than they reassured him. Lines ran to Cas' veins, dropping clear liquid in. Dean wasn't sure if he should touch or not but instead dropped into a chair opposite the end of the bed. He didn't want to risk hurting Castiel in the slightest.

He must have slipped into the light doze he used when his time on watch was imminent before the rasp of Castiel's tongue against his dry lips made Dean open his eyes and leap out of his chair, heartbeat already racing, body readying for action. The edge of the new day seemed to be peeking over the nearby buildings and Dean used the grey light to move closer. Castiel's eyes weren't open but he was shifting and moving. Dean dug his fingernails into his palm to stop himself reaching out and touching.

"...Dean." His name was so soft that if they hadn't been in the earliest hours of the morning, it would have been lost in the muted bustle of the hospital.

"Hey, Cas." Dean kept his voice quiet but he couldn't disguise the relief in it.

Castiel's eyes were muddied when he fluttered them open but he eventually managed to look at Dean and smile. Dean smiled back. There was no need for any more words. Dean nodded, as if to agree with everything Castiel was saying with his eyes.

One of the machines let out an insistent beep and Dean stepped back into the corner of the room as a nurse came in. She hurried to Castiel's side, already asking him if he needed anything. She slapped at the machine before stopping and glaring at Dean. "You shouldn't be here. No visitors."

Dean held up his hands, trying to appear consolatory rather than mocking, before sliding out of the room. He smiled as Castiel watched him go. 

 

Sam hadn't even noticed he had gone as Dean slipped back into the room they were supposed to be sharing. Dean lay back on the unused bed, waiting for the inevitable knock at the door. He let his thoughts drift, at ease for the first time in too long. Sam was safe and mostly okay. Castiel- Cas would take a little longer but he was on the mend. Dean would have laughed in relief. He'd gone into that building with the sure certainty that he'd be the one coming out needing an ambulance. Solo frontal assaults weren't known for their success rates after all.

Dean could feel the pieces of his life sliding around, out of his control and for once he didn't mind. He knew which pieces were fixed in place - Sam and Castiel - and they were the ones locking him tight. Dean finally drifted off, grabbing what sleep he could.

 

Epilogue

Dean had danced around Cas for the first few weeks after he’d come home from the hospital but it took Castiel following him into his bed to finally set the seal on everything they’d been circling towards. 

They’d laid there, on Dean’s crisp sheets, heads already finding the pillows on their sides of the bed, and just looked at each other, the tension stretching between them. They’d kissed, touched, but they hadn’t slept together in either the through the night sense or the sex sense. Dean had almost thought it wasn’t going to happen. They’d been stuck, dancing around each other. Then Cas had crawled into his bed and all the air had been sucked from the room.

“Dean.” Cas said, voice low and rough. The very sound of it sent anticipatory shivers up Dean’s spine.

“Yup,” Dean said. He shifted closer. He knew his bed was a ridiculous size but they weren’t small guys. There shouldn’t be this much distance between them. Cas seemed to have much the same idea, moving closer until they were snugged up against each other. Dean leaned forward for a tentative kiss. “You okay?”

“I’m good,” Cas said. “I have a clean bill of health.”

“That’s good.” Dean knew his voice squeaked on the final word but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He pressed forward to kiss Cas again, much less tentatively and Cas met him in the middle, lips already parted. Dean let him control the kiss and went eagerly when Cas pushed at his shoulders, pressing him back against the sheets.

“I should go slow…” Cas muttered as he knelt up to strip off his thin t-shirt. Dean tugged at his own, much less graceful. Nothing would match Castiel, his confident movements, the elegant curve of his spine as he arched over Dean, mouth open to claim another kiss. Dean had the lube in his nightstand but he didn’t want to stop running his hands over Cas’ warm, smooth skin. Smooth until his fingers met the healed bullet wound. Dean couldn’t help himself. He stroked his fingers over the skin and swallowed the soft hurt sound Cas made. 

Castiel pulled back, kneeling up in the vee between Dean’s legs. “One day, I’m going to get you to tell me about every one of your scars and I’m going to kiss them. Then I’ll let you do the same. No secrets, Dean.” He looked ridiculous, hair tangled wildly, front of his boxers distorted by the swell of his cock and amazing. Transcendent. Dean couldn’t believe he was able to lay hands on him and felt himself almost tremble from the need and want and the overwhelming state of his emotions. “But now I’m going to fuck you.”

It was the calm, methodical, logical way that Cas said it that made Dean’s hips punch up. He reached for his nightstand drawer only for Castiel to beat him there finding the lube and Dean’s only task was to shove at the boxers still clinging to Cas’ lean hips. Castiel kissed him as they stripped each other and then Dean was almost so turned on that he missed the first brush of Castiel’s fingers. He couldn’t miss the way Castiel kissed him as he opened him up, Dean spreading his legs as wide as they could go.

Cas pressed forward, cock brushing up against Dean’s balls before he grabbed it, drawing it down and pressing in. The stretch was uncomfortable to start with but Dean breathed through it, drawing Castiel close for another kiss, their mouths sloppy and wet. Dean rolled his hips, ready for more and something seemed to break within Cas as he grabbed at Dean, wrapped his fingers tight, putting his own mark on Dean as he thrust hard. Dean got his own hand around his cock, needing nothing than a few strokes to come, mess spattering on his belly and his hand. Cas groaned low and dark before he came, riding the waves of Dean’s orgasm. Then he collapsed close, kissing Dean again, seemingly unwilling to let their connection go.

Dean was equally as unwilling, holding Cas close as slowly his come glued them together.

Later on, much later, after Castiel had fallen asleep, Dean snuck his phone off the nightstand. Castiel sleepily protested, arm pulling at him, drawing him back into an embrace. Dean went willingly but not before he raised his hand up, angling the phone to snap a picture of the two of them. He might never show it to Cas and he would definitely never show it to anyone else. But he’d promised himself that he’d have Cas in this bed.

And he was going to keep him.

 

The End


End file.
